THE  ROBERT  E.  COWftN  COLLECTION 

PRKSKNTED   TO   THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CHUFORNIfl    W 


C.  P.  HUNTINGTON 

dUNE,  1897. 

Recession  No    ^2/^y     Class  No.^T  '  0  7^ 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


REV.  DR.  HORATIO  STEBBINS,  of  San  Francisco,  writes: 
"Mr.  Sumner's  journey  was  through  a  land  comparatively 
me  more  than  usual  European  journeys.    The  narrative  has  a  r 
longed  to  the  company  as  a  specially  favored  travelling  companio 


RIUHT  REV.  WM.  INGRAHAM  KIP,  Bishop  of  California,  TV 

"An  entertaining  book  on  Northern  Europe.    It  is  a  part 
our  millionaires  would  study  Mr.  Sumner's  account  of  the  public 
"I  hope  we  have  not  lost  Mr.  Sumner  to  California." 


GOOD  HEALTH,  a  monthly 
published  at  Battle  Creek, 
Michigan,  says: 

"Books  of  travel  are  al- 
most numberless,  but  we 
have  seldom  perused  a  more 
pleasing  volume  then  Sum- 
ner's 'Notes  of  Travel  in 
Northern  Europe.'  The 
scenes  of  the  sketches  are 
nearly  all  in  Sweden;  and 
while  the  descriptions  of 
places  are  line,  the  accounts 
of  the  manners  and  customs 
of  the  people  and  their  pub- 
lic institutions  are  so  vivid 
and  interesting  that  one 
feels,  while  reading  them, 
as  if  he,  too,  \yere  taking 
a  real  bona  Jtde  journey 
through  Northern  Europe. 
The  book  is  profusely  illus- 
trated with  views,  portraits, 
maps  and  plans,  engraved 
expressly  for  the  work." 


HENRY  GEORGE,  the  re- 
nowned author  of  "Pro- 
gress and  Poverty,"  says 
in  a  recent  communication 


DEPRECIATION 


A    PLAY   IN   FOUR   ACTS. 


PLACE,  SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL.  :     TIME,  1863  AND  1864, 


BY    DjE 
r>.  E.  Ai>F>ju:EToisr  <sc  oo.T 

:7<  v'  and  5  10  Montgomery  Street,  San  Francisco, 

Publishers  of  "Appleton's  Reciter," 

Containing-:  Sharnus  O'Brien  —  The    Vagabonds  —  Flynn   of  Virginia  — 

Beautiful  Snow  —  Bingt-n  on  the  Rhine  —  Sheridan's  Ride  —  Gray's 

Elegy  —  The  Raven  —  Barbara  Frietchie-  —  Bridge  nf  Sighs, 

and  numerous  others  of  equal  merit. 

Stoxit  oaa.  rooeijDt  of  DPrico,  2S 


FRANCIS,  VALENTINE  &  Co.,  PRINTERS,  517  CLAY  ST.  AND  514  COMMERCIAL  ST 
December,  1864. 


DEPEECIATION 


A   PLAY   IN   FOUR   ACTS. 


PLACE,  SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL,  :     TIME,  1863  AND  1864, 


BY      DE     CHADO. 


SAN    FRANCISCO  : 

FRANCIS,  VALENTINE  &  Co.,  PRINTERS,  517  CLAY  ST.  AND  514  COMMERCIAL  ST. 

December,  1861. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  of  our  Lord,  eighteen  hundred 
and  sixty-four, 

BY    CHARLES   A.    SttMNER, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court,  (U.  S.,)  First  District  of  the  State  of  Nevada. 


DRAMATIS    PERSONS. 


ALFRED  BRYAN,  a  stock  broker. 

HENRY  BRYAN,  elder  (bachelor)  brother  of  Alfred,  very  much  inter- 
ested in  his  brother's  family. 

ISAAC  CURAL,  an  elderly  gentleman,  retired  from  business,  with  repu- 
tation for  wealth  and  respectability. 

ARTHUR  HASSARD,  a  young  Lieut,  of  the  California  Volunteers. 
MRS.  ALFRED  BRYAN. 


MRS.  COUCHING,  an  English  woman,  recently  from  Australia. 

JANE  MALLON,  ) 

BRIDGET  BURNS,         x  servants  in  the  house  of  Bryan. 

PATRICK  DURKINS,     ) 

MARGARET  MAGARAGEL. 

Brokers,  Sharps  and  Flats,  Policemen,  etc. 


THIS    PLAT    IS    INSCRIBED 

BY    THE    AUTHOR 

TO  HIS  FRIEND,  A  TRUE  ARTIST  AS  ACTOR  AND  DRAMATIST, 

JOHN    BEOUGHAM,    ESQ., 

OF    NEW-YORK    CITY. 


DEPRECIATION. 


ACT    I. 

SCENE  1 — San  Francisco :  a  parlor,  plainly  furnished. 
Enter  LAURA.  BRYAN,  dressed  for  School,  with  satchel  on  her  arm. 

Laura — "Why,  where  is  Mama  ?  Dear  me !  I  believe  she  has  gone  off 
to  the  store  already ;  and  I  meant  to  have  asked  her,  before  she  went, 
to  buy  green  velvet  braid  for  my  new  silk  dress.  It  is  so  elegant  on  the 
edge  of  the  flounces ;  it  is  perfectly  splendid  on  Ellen  Mason's  new  dress. 
I'll  warrant  Charlotte  has  gone  out  with  Mama,  and  they'll  buy  some- 
thing that  wo'nt  suit  me  at  all — I  know  they  will. 

[Re-arranging  books  in  Tier  satchel. 

Enter  ELLEN  MASON. 

Laura — Ah !  Ellen,  you  are  just  the  girl  I  wanted  to  see  this  morning. 
I  wanted  mother  to  notice  how  nice  your  new  silk  dress  looked  with  the 
green  velvet  braid.  Mother  has  gone  out  to  buy  me  a  new  dress,  and  I 
know  I  could  persuade  her  to  have  it  trimmed  with  green  velvet  edging 
if  she  only  saw  how  nice  your  dress  looked  with  the  braid  of  that  color ! 
Let  us  go  'round  by  Austin's  store,  on  our  way  to  school. 

Ellen — On  our  way  to  school !  Out  of  our  way  to  school  a  mile  or  so, 
and  down  and  up  a  steep,  long  hill,  in  the  bargain.  Let  us  go  to  Aus- 
tin's by  way  of  the  school.  [Laughing. 

Laura — But  we  should  certainly  be  in  time  to  meet  Mother  and  Char- 
lotte at  the  store. 

Ellen — And  then  we  should  be  very  late  at  school.  I  can't  be  that, 
Laura.  Father  says  that  if  I  do  not  have  a  tardy  mark  this  term,  he 
will  give  me  thirty  feet  in  the  "  Early  Dawn,"  all  in  my  own  name. 

Laura— 0,  say!  do  you  know  that  Father's  "Gould  &  Curry"  has 
gone  up  to  four  thousand  dollars  a  foot,  and  Mother  read  from  the  pa- 
pers, this  morning,  that  it  had  an  "  upward  tendency."  Just  think  of 
it  I  And  it  only  cost  Father  three  hundred  dollars  a  foot  in  the  winter 
of  '62,  Mama  says. 

Ellen — How  many  feet  has  your  father  got  ? 

Laura — Thirty  feet.  0,  we're  rich  I  Mother  is  on  the  lookout  for  a 
splendid  house  to  rent,  right  off,  or  a  fine  site  to  build  an  elegant  one  on. 
Father  has  ordered  a  new  carriage,  made  expressly  for  us,  with  a  stav- 
ing team.  We  are  going  to  commence  living  easy  next  week.  Uncle 
Henry  says  that  we  ought  not  to  flare  out  big,  all  of  a  sudden,  but  that, 


6  DEPRECIATION. 

like  Father's  stocks,  our  style  should  have  a  gradual  upward  tendency; 
but  Mama  says  that  we  ought  and  shall  go  on  our  fortune  at  once.  Will 
you  believe  it:  she  didn't  know  that  Father  had  any  ''Gould  &  Curry" 
until  last  week.  Uncle  Henry  persuaded  Father  to  keep  the  fact  from 
Mother ;  but  when  it  got  to  be  thirty-eight  hundred  a  foot  bid,  Father 
couldn't  stand  the  keeping  of  the  secret  any  longer.  0,  Ellen,  won't  we 
have  bu'sting  fine  times!  I  am  to  have  six  new  first-class  dresses  at 
once.  High-toned,  I  tell  you.  0,  no,  I  guess  not.  Tain't  us  that  '11  put 
on  airs.  Uncle  Henry  says  that  we'll  exhaust  all  the  atmosphere  in  the 
neighborhood.  Mother  is  buying  a  best  kind  of  silk  to-day.  This  one 
is  to  be  made  up,  and  if  the  cutting  is  well  done,  we  shall  continue  to 
employ  the  same  woman  as  dress-maker.  But,  Ellen,  Mother  says  that 
your  father  has  made  a  great  fortune  lately  in  the  brokering  business? 

Ellen — 0,  yes.  Father  ain't  a  broker,  you  know;  but  then  he  hag 
been  dabbling  in  stocks  a  good  deal  for  the  last  two  years. 

Laura — What  has  he  got?  tell  me. 

Ellen — 0,  he  has  got  lots  of  stock  that  is  turning  out  well.  He  says, 
or  Mother  says,  he  wouldn't  sell  out  what  he  has  for  $100,000.  He  has 
been  offered  $40,000  for  his  mining  interests  alone.  And,  then  his  store 
profits  have  never  been  so  great.  You  see  he  paid  off  all  hin  debts  due 
in  1861  and  '62  in  greenbacks.  Mother  says  he  nearly  doubled  his 
actual  pecuniary  worth  by  that  operation.  You  see,  he  buys  for  green- 
backs, and-  sells  for  coin.  Mother  says  Father  confesses  he  would  have 
"gone  in"  in  1863,  but  for  the  depreciation  in  greenbacks,  and  what  he 
made  by  paying  old  scores  in  them,  which  did  not  cost  over  seventy-five 
or  eighty  cents  on  a  dollar.  And,  do  you  know  that  there  were  a  great 
many  in  Father's  predicament ! 

Laura — No? 

Ellen — Yes,  Mama  says  so.  Papa  has  got  fifty  feet  of  "Del  Monte," 
and  the  same  amount  of  "Pond;"  so,  any  way  the  case  goes,  between 
them  he  is  bound  to  have- a  "good  thing."  Don't  you  see?  '  Besides, 
he  has  got  any  quantity  of  small  stock,  which  is  liable  to  turn  up  big  any 
day.  Papa  says  everything  was  "  wild-cat"  once,  and  any  of  what  is 
"wild-cat"  now  may  prove  rich.  But,  come,  it  is  time  for  us  to  be  on 
the  way  to  school. 

Laura — Well,  wait  until  I  write  a  little  note  to  Mama  about  the  trim- 
mings [taking  a  piece  of  paper  out  of  her  satchel,  and  sitting  down  to  write.'] 
I  will  tell  her  that  you  will  come  over  this  evening  in  your  new  silk, 
to  let  her  see  how  you  look  in  it.  You'll  come,  won't  you  ? 

Ellen — 0,  yes,  I'll  come,  for  I  want  a  suit-pattern  to  my  dress.  (I  over- 
heard a  young  man  say,  yesterday,  that  he  did  like  to  see  two  pretty 
girls  walking  Montgomery  street  dressed  in  the  same  style— the  same 
cut  and  trimmings.)  [Aside. 

Laura — Now  I've  got  my  letter  written,  I  don't  know  where  to  leave 
it. 

Ellen — Give  it  to  the  servant,  and  tell  her  to  give  it  to  your  mother  so 
soon  as  she  comes  in. 

Laura — She'd  forget  it — she  always  does — until  I  come  home  in  the 
afternoon. 

Ellen — Leave  it  just  sticking  out  of  this  big  Bible. 


DEPRECIATION.  7 

Laura — No,  Mother  would  never  notice  it  there.  I'll  go  up  stairs,  and 
stick  it  in  the  side  of  Mama's  looking-glass ;  she'll  be  sure  to  see  it 
there  the  first  thing  when  she  comes  in.  Come  I  [Exeunt. 

[Enter  MRS.  BRYAN,  in  great  haste.'] 

Mrs.  Bryan — Well,  well,  well  I  I  do  hope  we  shall  have  the  carriage 
to-morrow.  I  am  glad  Alfred  had  it  started  a  month  ago,  as  a  surprise 
to  me.  The  two-blocks'  walk  from  the  railroad  is  enough  to  exhaust  me. 
[Calling]  Jane!  Jane!  Jane! — Jane!  Why  don't  that  girl  answer? 
she  must  be  up  stairs. 

[Servant  JANE  enters,  unperceived  by  MRS.  BRYAN,  moves  up  to  the  table 
cautiously,  and  touches  a  call-bell  that  is  standing  on  the  Bible.'] 

Mrs.  Bryan — [starting']    Why,  Jane,  you  there! 

Jane — I  ought  to  be  here,  for  you  called  me. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Well,  why  didn't  you  answer,  if  you  were  about?  And 
what  did  you  mean  by  springing  that  bell  ? 

Jane— You  told  me,  madam,  yesterday,  that  you  would  touch  the  bell 
hereafter  when  you  wanted  me.  Tou  called  me,  just  now.  (Not  the 
first  mushroom  I've  helped  set  up  in  manners.)  [Aside. 

Mrs.  Bryan — How  long  has  Laura  been  gone  ? 

Jane — Just  gone,  madam — just  gone  to  school  with  Ellen  Mason. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Jane,  Mr.  Bryan  thinks  that  we  shall  move,  certainly, 
this  week ;  probably  day  after  to-morrow.  I  wish  you  to  loosen  the 
carpets  up-stairs  to-day,  so  that  we  shall  be  ready,  to  take  them  up  at  a 
moment's  warning.  We  shall  certainly  move  this  week. 

Jane — I  thought  you  were  going  to  build  a  house  of  your  own,  madam  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — We  cannot  sit  here,  in  this  shanty  of  a  house,  until  such 
time  as  we  can  find  a  place  where  we  would  like  to  build.  We  have 
been  cramped  up  here  long  enough. 

Jane — Mrs.  Bryan,  there  is  a  girl  below  that  has  been  waiting  for  you 
to  come  home,  for  some  time.  She  is  after  a  place ;  I  know  her  very 
well;  I  knew  her  at  home ;  she  heard  you  were  going  to  hire  two  more 
girls.  She's  a  good  washer  and  ironer,  and  she  knows  everything  about 
taking  care  of  children.  She's  got  a  letter  from  the  Sisters. 

Mrs.  Bryan — You  may  tell  her  to  come  up.  [Exit  JANE.]  I  met  Mrs. 
Hvssard  this  morning,  and  she  declared  that  I  would  curse  the  day  I  had 
the  second  girl  in  the  house,  to  associate  and  gossip  with  the  other.  I 
told  her  I  intended  to  have  two  more,  at  least,  which  rather  put  her 
"second  girl1'  out  of  objection,  and  rather  mortified  her  consequence. 
She  put  on  dreadful  haughty  airs  to  me,  when  we  came  out  in  the 
steamer,  ten  years  ago,  because  her  husband  was  then  a  rich  merchant. 
I  will  show  her  now  who  is  "up,"  and  who  is  only  middling. 

[Re-enter  JANE,  followed   by   BRIDGET,  who  is  elegantly  dressed,    her 
hair  braided,  cheeks  rouged,  etc.'] 

Jane— This  is  Miss  Bridget  Burns,  Mra.  Bryan.  I  recommends  her. 
[JANE  proceeds  to  dust,  and  fitss  about  the  room,  while  BRIDGET  sweeps 
magnificently  around,  takes  the  rocking-cnair,  quizzingly  looks  at  MRS. 
BRYAN,  who  gives  evidence  of  being  slightly  flustered  at  the  grandeur,  cool- 
ness, and  scrutinizing  glances  of  the  candidate  for  Servant's  billet.} 


8  DEPRECIATION. 

Bridget — 1  have  got  a  recommend  from  the  Sisters;  and  Jane  knows 
me,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  want  a  girl  to  do  our  own  washing  and  ironing,  in  the 
house ;  I  do  not  feel  like  trusting  it  out  any  more.  We  shall  have  very 
nice  clothes  to  wash,  and  I  want  the  work  done  by  a  careful  and  expe- 
rienced person. 

Bridget — That's  me,  ma'am.  How  many  have  you  in  the  family, 
ma'am  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — There  is  only  my  husband,  myself,  and  three  children. 
My  husband's  brother  will  continue  to  have  his  clothes  washed  by  a 
Chinaman. 

Bridget — How  many  shirts,  in  a  week,  does  your  husband  wear  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — He  has  been  accustomed  to  wear  one  two  days ;  here- 
after he  will  have  a  fresh  one  each  morning. 

Bridget — Has  he  collars  and  ruffles  on  his  bhirts  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — Plain  bosoms,  and  the  collars  separate  and  small. 

Bridget — How  old  are  all  the  childers  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — My  oldest  daughter  is  nineteen. 

Bridget — She  stays  at  home  all  the  time  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — Yes.  My  next  daughter  is  fifteen ;  she  is  still  going  to 
echool,  but  will  leave  off  school  this  season.  My  youngest  is  a  boy  of 
ten. 

Bridget — Are  you  going  to  set  a  grand  dinner,  with  fresh  napkins, 
every  day  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — "We  shall  most  likely  have  company  three  or  four  times 
a  week. 

Bridget — Dinner  when  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — "We  have  not  decided  as  to  that. 

Bridget — What  wages,  ma'am? 

Mrs.  Bryan — Twenty-five  dollars  a  month. 

Bridget — 0,  dear!  0,  ma'am,  I  couldn't  think  of  the  work  for  that 
price. 

Mrs.  Bryan — You  will  have  nothing  to  do  but  take  care  of  the  wash- 
ing and  ironing. 

Bridget — I  ought  to  have  thirty-five  for  the  work.  I  know  what  it  is 
— this  washing  childers'  clothes,  and  this  washing  and  ironing  fine  frilled 
and  flounced  underclothes. 

Mrs.  Bryan — As  I  told  the  Intelligence  Office  Keeper,  this  morning,  I 
don't  mind  a  difference  of  five  dollars  for  a  first-rate  girl ;  but  she  must 
be  first-rate. 

Bridget— 0,  I've  made  my  living  at  washing  and  ironing  since  I  came 
to  the  country,  and  done  nothing  else. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Well,  I  will  try  you  for  a  month  at  thirty  dollars. 

Bridget—  Madam,  is  there  to  be  a  man  cook  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — We  have  not  decided  on  that. 

Bridget — It's  not  a  Chinaman  that  yon  are  going  to  get,  are  you? 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  don't  think  we  shall  employ  a  Chinaman. 

Bridget — Your  husband  won't  be  a  g'ood  politician  if  he  allows  it, 
ma'am.  Are  you  going  to  have  a  coachman  ?  sure,  of  course  ye  are? 

Mrs.  Bryan — Certainly. 


DEPRECIATION.  9 

Bridgd — I  have  got  a  cousin  that  just  come  out  from  New  York,  on 
the  steamer.  He's  a  No.  1  coachman.  If  you  will  take  us  both,  we'll 
come  for  sixty  dollars  a  month. 

Mrs.  Bryan — My  husband  will  hire  the  coachman. 

Bridget — Then  he  ought  not  to,  indeed ;  for  it's  the  lady  of  the  house 
that  has  more  to  do  with  the  coachman  than  the  mon — much.  She  is 
continually  riding  out,  while  the  mon  is  in  business. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Well,  if  you  wish  to  come  for  thirty  dollars  for  one  month, 
to  be  kept  on  if  you  suit,  you  can  come.  {Rising. 

Bridget — Well,  ma'am,  there  is  one  other  tning  I  shall  have  to  speak 
to  you  about.  I  wants  three  nights  in  the  week,  besides  Sunday  nights, 
which  I  will  have,  of  course — three  nights  in  the  week  to  go  out,  and 
privilege  to  have  company  in  the  kitchen  any  night  I  wants,  or  to  have 
company  in  my  room. 

Mrs.  Bryan — You  will  have  your  work  to  do,  and  you  can  go  out  ac- 
cording as  you  work.  I  expect  the  girls  will  take  turns  in  going  out 
I  do  not  want  any  great  noise  in  the  kitchen  from  visitors,  nor  do  I  want 
the  back  or  basement  doors  left  open  late  at  night. 

Bridget — Sure,  I  was  always  accustomed,  at  grand  places  where  I  have 
lived,  to  ring  at  the  front  door  when  I  came  home  nights,  or  have  a  night 
key, 

Mrs.  Bryan — That  can't  be  permitted.  When  the  family  go  out  of  an 
evening,  altogether,  I  shall  want  one  of  the  girls  in  the  back  parlor, 
waiting ;  and  I  have  no  objection  to  her  having  her  beau  there  on  such 
nights,  provided  he's  a  decent  fellow. 

Bridgd — [leaning  back  in  the  rocking-chair,  and  addressing  JANE] — Be 
gob,  she's  insulting  us,  she  is.  Ma'am,  our  company  is  always  dacent, 
and  more  so  than  some's  that  higher. 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  want  it  understood  that  on  no  evening  shall  all  the 
girls  be  absent,  /must  be  at  liberty  to  go  out  on  any  evening. 

Bridget — Do  you  agree  to  take  me  and  my  cousin  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — Yo':r  cousin  will  have  to  see  my  husband  about  the 
coachman's  place — I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  hiring.  You  have 
my  explanations  as  to  what  I  want,  and  what  I  will  give.  You  can 
come,  under  the  terms,  for  a  month,  or  not.  I  must  go  up-stairs. 

Bridget — Well,  ma'am,  I  will  go  and  see  your  husband  about  the 
places,  if  you  will  tell  me  where  his  office  of  business  is? 

Mrs.  Bryan — [retiring] — I  don't  think  you  will  suit  me,  anyway. 
Jane,  be  preparing  things  for  dinner.  We  shall  have  dinner  early  to- 
day—have the  roast  in  by  twelve  o'clock.  [Exit  MRS.  BRYAN. 

Bridget — [rockixg  violently] — What  airs  that  woman  has!  Don't  you 
think,  Jane,  that  if  I  went  to  see  Mr.  Bryan,  I  could  get  Pat  a  place  ? 

Jane — Troth,  you  can't  get  anything  of  that  kind  out  of  the  boss  ex- 
cept the  mistress  agrees.  He  does  just  exactly  what  she  says,  in  moat 
everything.  You  bothered  her  too  much  with  your  propositions. 

Bridget — Best  to  have  all  things  understood  in  advance. 

Jane — Didn't  I  tell  you  I  didn't  have  any  understanding  at  all  when  I 
came  here,  and  I've  all  the  liberty  a  girl  could  ask  for.  Sure  you  ought 
to  have  accepted  so  good  a  place  as  I  told  you  it  was.  Peoples  that  just 
sprung  up  are  always  liberal. 


10  DEPRECIATION. 

Bridget — Troth,  I  did  accept.     I'll  have  my  trunk  here  to-night 
Jane — You'd  better  wait  till  we  get  into  the  new  house. 
Bridget — Divil  a  day  longer  will  I  board,  when  I've  a  situation  in  my 
fist.     I've  boarded  out  six  weeks'  wages  now.     I'll  have  Patrick  bring 
my  baggage  down  this  day,  troth.  [Exeunt. 

[Enter  MR.  BRYAN — slings  his  hat  down  on  the  table.'] 
Mr.  Bryan — Well,  it  is  more  confounded  bother  trying  to  get  a  house  to 
rent — that  is,  a  suitable  one  for  us,  such  as  my  wife  would  like — than  it 
would  be  to  go  to  work  and  make  arrangements  for  building  a  new  one. 
Here,  I've  missed  a  meeting  of  the  Board  to-day,  on  acoount  of  my  hav- 
ing to  hunt  up  a  house.  Mrs.  Bryan  must  pursue  this  business  for  her- 
self; I  cannot  afford  to  follow  it.  I  would  be  satisfied  here.  If  she  is 
not  suited  with  the  place  I  have  now  offered  me,  she  must  wait  until  the 
carriage  comes  home,  and  then  she  can  scour  the  town,  until  she  finds  a 
domicil  that  does  suit. 

[Enter  MRS.  BRYAN.] 

Mrs.  Bryan — Why,  my  dear,  are  you  home  at  this  time  of  the  day  ? 
I  expected  you  home  rather  early,  but  not  so  early  as  this. 

Mr.  Bryan — Yes,  my  dear.  I  have  been  out  and  around  looking  at  a 
number  of  houses,  and  I  found  myself,  at  Board  time,  too  far  from  Mont- 
gomery Block  to  allow  of  my  getting  there  in  any  available  season  ;  so, 
I  am  here  for  a  lunch,  and  to  report  progress.  I  think  I  have  found  a 
house  that  will  suit  you.  There  are  twelve  good  rooms,  and  all  the  con- 
veniences of  gas  and  water  well  arranged.  The  owner  will  rent  or  sell 
— he  is  going  to  the  East  to  settle  down. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Has  it  got  bay  windows  in  front? 

Mr.  Bryan — I  believe  not. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Then  I  don't  want  it.  I  must  have  bay  windows  in 
front. 

Mr.  Bryan — Maybe  the  landlord  will  put  them  in  for  us ;  that's  not  a 
difficult  matter  to  remedy  to  your  taste. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Well,  he  must  do  it  right  off,  if  we  hire  the  house ;  and 
I  want  large  panes  of  glass,  filling  a  sash  entire. 

Mr.  Bryan — There  is  a  large  coach-house  in  the  rear;  and  the  building 
is  by  itself,  being  separated  from  the  neighbors  at  least  six  feet  on  each 
side. 

Mrs.  Bryan — That  is  good:  I  will  go  and  look  at  the  place  this  after- 
noon. But  now,  dear  Alfred,  there  is  something  which  I  wanted  to  see 
you  about  this  morning,  very  much.  I  called  at  your  office  to  see  you,  when 
I  was  down  town.  I  overheard  your  brother  Henry,  last  night,  advise 
you  to  sell  out  your  Gould  &  Curry  and  Del  Monte  stock.  Don't  you  do 
it.  Henry  is  always  croaking  to  you — first  not  to  do  something,  and 
then  to  do  something  or  other.  Don't  you  sell ;  now  mind  what  I  tell 
you. 

Mr.  Bryan — If  I  •should  sell  out  now  all  the  stock  I  have,  I  should 
realize  at  least  one  hundred  and  ten  thousand  dollars,  in  gold  coin.  We 
could  live  mighty  comfortable  on  that  amount,  well  invested  here  in  San 
Francisco,  on  real  estate  security. 

Mrs.  Bryan — You  mind  what  I  tell  you,  now;  don't  you  sell  your 
stock — any  of  it.  It  is  going  up  much  higher,  I  can  see. 


DEPRECIATION.  11 

Mr.  Bryan — Henry  prevented  me  from  selling  it  when  I  was  disposed 
to  let  it  go  at  half  the  present  figure ;  aad  I  took  his  advice  in  buying  it 
at  first.  He  has  good  judgment. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Mind  what  I  tell  you ;  don't  you  sell.  And  I  heard 
Henry  say  to  you,  you  ought  not  to  "  spread  out,"  as  he  termed  it. 
What  is  your  business  to  him  ?  Because  he  has  a  mind  to  hug  up  his 
little  twenty  thousand  dollars,  like  a  crusty  bachelor  as  he  is,  is  that  any 
reason  why  you  should  think  him  a  very  wise  man  in  all  respects,  whose 
advice  you  must  always  follow,  though  your  family  suffer  ? 

Mr.  Bryan — My  dear,  brother  Henry's  advice  has  brought  me  this 
wealth,  by  my  following  it,  and  that  is  good  ground  for  following  it  in 
making  a  sale  now.  Stocks  go  down  oftener  now-a-days,  and  more 
readily  than  they  go  up.  I  was  inclined  to  sell  out,  as  he  urged ;  but  if 
you  say  No,  why — why — I  won't. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Don't!  When  you  can  sell  out  for  two  hundred  thous- 
and dollars  clean  cash,  you  may  sell — not  before.  Eecollect  that.  I 
wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  another  matter:  did  you  know  that  Mr. 
Cural  is  seriously  paying  attention  to  our  daughter"? 

Mr.  Bryan — Yes;  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  kick  him  if  he  comes 
into  the  house  again,  and  can't  take  a  plain  hint  to  leave. 

Mrs.  Bryan — That's  just  what  Henry  advised  you  to  do  this  morning. 

Mr.  Bryan — There  you're  mistaken.  Henry  advised  me  to  kick  him 
before  he  got  into  the  house. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Now,  don't  be  a  fool.  Kick  him,  indeed  I  Kick  an  old 
man  1  Or,  I  mean — 

Mr.  Bryan — [interrupting] — Yes,  that's  just  it.  An  old  man  like  him, 
making  offers  to  a  young  girl  of  eighteen  I 

Mrs.  Bryan — You  have  no  sense.  You  are  not  a  mai^of  sense.  Don't 
you  know  that  he  is  worth  a  half  a  million  at  least? 

Mr.  Bryan — I  know  he  is  an  old  man — fifty  years  of  age  or  over — a 
worn  out  debauchee.  He  is  an  old  miser,  besides,  of  the  meanest  type. 
Do  you  suppose,  Clara,  that  I'd  permit  him  for  a  minute  to  talk  to  me 
for  himself  of  such  a  thing  as  a  marriage  with  our  pretty  little  daughter 
of  eighteen — God  bless  her !— Never.  I  couldn't  endure  that,  not  if  he 
were  worth  his  millions  on  millions. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Don't  you  know  that  our  neighbor  Burden's  daughter  is 
going  to  marry  Mr.  Furlong,  who  is  certainly  fifty,  and  who  don't  claim 
to  have  over  a  hundred  thousand. 

Mr.  Bryan — A  hundred,  a  thousand  disgraceful  affairs  of  that  charac- 
ter might  happen  in  San  Francisco,  without  changing  my  ideas  about 
them  in  general,  and,  I  am  more  sure,  without  leading  me  to  entertain 
such  a  match  for  my  own  child.  The  affair  is  degrading  to  the  human 
race,  disgusting,  outrageous.  It  might  do  in  Turkey,  but  not  where  civ- 
ilization has  taken  effect. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Alfred,  you  can  blow  away  on  your  "  general  principles" 
as  much  as  you  choose,  if  you  think  it  does  you  any  good.  But  Mr.  Cural 
is  coming  here  to-night,  to  take  Charlotte  out  to  ride.  Don't  you  oppose 
it.  If  you  can't  contain  your  bad  temper,  and  have  good  manners  for 
him,  you  can  dine  out.  I  promised  him  that  she  should  ride  out  with 
him  to-night.  Of  course,  you  wouldn't  attempt  to  prevent  his  doing  so 
to-night,  after  my  promise !  [Looking  very  threateningly. 


12  DEPRECIATION. 

Mr.  Bryan — You  ought  not  to  have  promised  anything  involving  so 
much  without  my  knowledge  and  consent. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Alfred,  you'd  really  teach  impudence  to  an  applicant  for 
a  servant's  place  and  wages!  Charlotte  goes  out  with  Mr.  Cural  to  rido 
to-night.  That's  fixed. 

Mr.  Bryan — It  is  disgraceful. 

Mrs.  Bryan — It  is  not.  You  are  no  man.  You  don't  see  what  is  for 
your  own  interest  and  the  interests  of  your  children.  You  happen  to 
have  a  little  luck,  and  you  don't  know  how  to  improve  it. 

Mr.  Bryan — There  are  some  so  called  u  advantages"  of  pecuniary  luck 
which  I  don't  want  to  improve. 

Mrs.  Bryan — No ;  because  you  are  a  fool;  you  always  were. 

[Enter  HENRY.] 

Henry — Here  !  here  1  here !  Ask  a  fellow  "  home"  to  lunch,  particu- 
larly, PARTICULARLY  ;  and  here,  most  unaccountable  thing  of  all  things, 
I  find  Alf.  at  home,  and  domestic  matters  on  the  very  verge  of  liveliness. 

Mr.  Bryan — It  is  not  five  minutes  since  she  was  warning  me  against 
you,  too,  and  here  you  are,  the  invited  guest  of  the  best  part  of  the  day. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Henry  is  a  croaker  with  you ;  but  he  has  good  judgment 
in  making  some  store  trades  and  purchases.  I  asked  him  to  come  here 
and  lunch,  and  go  out  with  me  this  afternoon  and  make  some  bargains. 

Henry — Although  I'm  opposed  to  your  putting  on  "airs  " — (too  soon) 
— as  Clara  has  just  remarked 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  didn't  say  that. 

Henry — Well,  something  to  that  effect. still,  I'm  a  valuable  man  to 

have  occasionally  about  the  house.  Clara  don't  like  some  of  my  outside 
economical  views.;  but  when  I  am  given  to  understand  that  things  are 
to  be  and  must  be  purchased,  I'm  a  creature  of  good  qualifications  and 
a  first  class  higgler.  Aint  that  so,  brother's  wife  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — Henry,  I  hate  you  and  I  like  you. 

Henry — If  an  eligible,  fascinating  young  lady  had  made  that  same  re- 
mark to  me,  I  should  have  replied  instanter :  You  hate  me  for  somebody 
else's  sake,  and  you  like  me  for  my  own.  Therefore,  you  very  naturally 
both  like  and  hate  me. 

Mrs.  Bryan — You've  got  a  kind  of  underhand  goodness  about  you, 
but  you  are  a  croaker. 

Henry — Two  matters  of  character  not  at  all  inconsistent.  As  a  truly 
brave  man  is  one  who  knows  his  danger  when  met,  grows  white  in  the 
gills,  and  faces  the  enemy,  so,  in  some  such  sort  of  way,  a  truly  exem- 
plary member  of  our  modern  pioneer  society  is  a  man  who  knows  its 
faults  and  foibles  and  speaks  of  them,  and  censures  people  guilty  of 
them  (himself  included),  and  keeps  his  temper  so  perversely  that  on  one 
can  find  a  chance  to  kick  or  curse  him — that  is,  not  curse  him  in  his 
presence.  But  here,  I  expect  something  tremendous  in  the.affairs  of  the 
house  are  on  the  tapis.  Come,  now,  what  is  it  ?  Have  you  a  new  house 
rented  ?  And  where  is  it  sitivated  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — [Touches  Ml  Enter  JANE.] — Jane,  bring  the  lunch  up 
here.  [Exit  JANE. 

Mr.  Bryan — I  looked  at  the  house  you  spoke  of  this  morning.    My 


DEPRECIATION.  13 

wife  objects  to  it,  before  seeing  it.  on  account  of  there  not  being  any 
front  bay  window  to  it,  or  in  it. 

Henry— Good  objection  !  Bay  windows  are  essentially  California  in- 
stitutions. Pre-eminent  characteristic  glories  of  the  Pacific  style  of 
house  and  cottage  architecture. 

\Enter  BRIDGET  with  lunch,  which  being  duly  spread,  the  parties  sit  about 
the  table.     Bridget  stands  at  side.] 

Henry — Now,  I  venture  to  say  that  there  are  more  pretty  girls  and  hand- 
some houses  in  this  little  city  of  San  Francisco,  in  comparison  with  its 
size,  to  say  nothing  of  its  age,  than  in  any  other  city  on  the  continent. 
Pretty  girls !  why  the  city  is  full  of  them.  You  take  a  good  bay-window 
view  on  Montgomery  street  on  a  good  breezy  afternoon, — why,  it's 
enough  to  set  an  old  bachelor,  not  used  to  the  sight,  into  an  Atlantic 
Cable  fit.  That  makes  me  think ;  I've  heard  some  bach'es  object  to  the 
regular  Montgomery  street  walkers.  I  like  them.  ^Regularity  heightens 
variety  and  novelty.  I  like  to  see  the  regular  trampers,  with  their  shop- 
ping bundles;  I  have  got  so  that  I  can  time  them. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Time  them  ? 

Henry — Certainly.  Given  the  time  of  passing  Shew's  gallery,  figured 
the  minute  when  they  come  in  on  the  first  return  trip,  by  route  down 
Kearny  and  Sansome ;  brown  bundle  carried  up,  slightly  exposed,  small 
parcel ;  newspaper  bundle,  size  for  dress-pattern,  much  exposed  on  first 
return  trip.  Second  return  trip,  if  made  same  day,  will  exhibit  end  of 
pair  of  shoes,  very  scantily  tied  up  in  tea  paper.  Calculate  them?  of 
course,  as  regular  as  an  eclipse.  By  the  way,  I  saw  old  Cural  a  few 
hours  ago ;  he  was  soft  on  me ;  I  know  what  he's  after.  You  must 
choke  that  old  fry,  if  he  comes  about  the  new  house.  Let  old  things 
pass  away,  then  and  there,  and  all  things  become  new. 

Mr.  Bryan — The  bay-window  can  easily  be  put  in,  for  both  windows 
of  that  house. 

Henry — 0,  yes — coming  back  to  the  bay-window.  The  bay-window 
can  and  must  be  put  in  ;  and  you  can  have  a  cistern  put  on  top  of  the 
house,  with  heating  apparatus  attached  to  the  kitchen  stove — and  all 
that  sort  of  convenience,  But  we  must  hurry  out,  if  we  are  going.  I 
know  you  want  to  make  a  thorough  review  of  rentable  houses,  and  so 
far  as  I'm  involved  as  a  legal  tender  in  the  business,  I  want  to  have  the 
job  off  my  hands.  By  the  way,  passing  Newhall's  this  morning — great 
crowd — lots  of  carriages,  buggies  and  coaches  in  front,  for  sale.  All  of 
them  went  off  like  hot  cakes.  0,  there's  lots  of  people  in  your  path  to 
day.  There's  lots  of  people  here  who  have  got  rich  within  the  past  year 
— Lord  only  knows  how,  in  many  cases ;  in  many  cases  they  hardly 
know  themselves.  Why,  here's  a  tract  of  country  lying  right  off 
here  to  the  southwest  of  San  Francisco  proper — as  it  lately  was — of 
which  people  hardly  dreamed  there  was  an  existence  until  a  few  months 
ago.  Now  the  steam  Irishman  digs  into  it,  and  up,  up,  up  it  goes. 
That's  the  way  to  have  an  easy  and  permanent  fortune,  Alph  I  Buy 
real  estate  in  the  suburbs  of  a  growing  western  city.  That  is  the  way 
Douglas  made  his  money  in  Chicago;  Filley  and  Crittenden  made  theirs 
in  that  way  in  St.  Louis;  Cass  made  a^good  share  of  his  fortune  in 
2 


14  DEPRECIATION. 

that  way.  But  what  the  idea  just  now  is  —mushrooms,  lots  of  mush- 
rooms !  mushrooms  by  the  thousands  with  thousands  I  Ladies  of  thirty 
— all  of  that,  you  bet — learning  to  read,  write  and  speak  French,  when 
they  can't  write  legibly  in  English.  Gentleman  of  forty,  who  have  a 
brogue  more  rough  than  rich  not  yet  off  their  lips,  learning  to  dance — 
private  pupils.  By  the  way,  Mrs.  B.,  I  have  got  a  special  item  for  you. 
So  soon  as  you  set  up  in  fine  style,  you  will  be  overrun  with  callers  at 
lunch  time.  Lots  of  women  acquaintances  will  "just  happen  in,"  quite 
accidentally  so  far  as  lunch  is  concerned,  at  lunch  hour.  It  is  the  female 
free  lunch  game.  I  have  been  meditating  over  the  little  affairs  that  will 
contribute  to  your  happiness  and  peace  of  mind  in  your  approaching 
highness  of  position.  I'll  tell  you  how  you  can  dodge  the  whole  nuis- 
ance at  the  outset.  Take  your  lunch  out;  lunch  down  town.  Ha!  hal 
Capital  idea,  ain't  it,  Alph?  Strategy!  I'll  bet  a  half  dollar  to  a 
bachelor's  pincushion,  Mrs.  B.,  that  you  won't  be  established  in  your 
big  quarters  three  days,  before  you'll  hear  of  a  lunch-time  call  on  you 
from  Mrs.  Hemp ;  who,  I'll  be  bound,  has  not  been  to  see  you  for  an 
age.  She's  a  regular  old  feminine  bummer ;  and  there's  lots  of  her  kind. 
They  manage  by  their  volume  of  gossip  to  keep  up  social  relations  with 
the  idle  women  of  wealthy  leisure  in  town ;  and  so  they  live,  actually 
feed  from  door  to  door.  The  least  troublesome  are  those  most  expert  in 
gaining  and  establishing  relationships  of  this  character.  I  have  been 
many  times  confidentially  told  of  one  woman,  who  does  not  call  at  the 
same  house  more  than  once  a  month.  They  say  she  has  over  one 
hundred  sure  resorts  for  square  meals,  and  there's  nothing  on  earth  to 
recommend  her  but  her  volubility  of  gossip,  and  her  disposition  to  learn 
and  tattle  matters  that  could  not'bear  print  at  all. 

Bridget — Madam,  Jane  said  she  forgot  to  tell  you  that  Mrs.  Hemp 
called  to  see  you,  just  before  you  came  in.  Her  card  is  on  the  mantle- 
piece  in  your  chamber. 

Henry — There!  "I  told  you  so!"  I  knew  she'd  be  about,  so  soon  as 
your  good  luck  was  known.  And  by  the  by,  another  thing :  You  will 
be  sure  to  be  bored  by  the  Samaritan  Dorcas  Society  women  of  the  city. 
Take  my  advice  hero,  Mrs.  B.  Set  apart  a  fixed  quarterly  sum  for  the 
principal  charity  institutions  of  the  city ;  give  that  regularly  at  a  day 
named  to  the  officers  of  the  institutions;  you  and  Alph  agree  upon  so 
much  for  the  church  you  attend  and  so  much  for  its  special  charities  and 
enterprises ;  and.  having  done  your  duty,  you  will  be  armed  against 
a  host  of  terrible  importuning,  having  a  substantial  reason  for  your  faith 
and  your  negative.  Don't  imagine  for  one  moment  that  you  can  reli- 
giously divide  your  money,  giving  something  to  every  solicitor.  That 
can't  be  done,  except  you  fritter  away  a  great  deal  of  time  unnecessarily ; 
and  you  want  to  fritter  away  your  time  as  necessarily  as  possible.  For 
people  in  ordinary  circumstances,  it  will  do  to  wait  for  the  call  of  agents, 
and  hold  purse  strings  until  you're  dove  after ;  but  a  hundred  thousand 
capital  for  income  ought  to  have  a  systematized  outlet  in  this  direction. 
0,  money  really  will  bring  vexation  of  spirit  to  women,  as  well  as  to 
men.  I  know  it  don't  seem  hardly  possible ;  but  it's  so. — But  we  must 
be  off.  [Rising,  all,  from  table. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Yes,  Henry,  I  want  to  save  some  of  your  breath  for  our 


DEPRECIATION.  15 

business,  to-day.  And,  I'll  tell  you, — if  we  hire  the  house  you  have 
recommended,  the  first  evening  after  the  bay-windows  are  finished,  we 
will  have  the  blinds  dowu  and  a  pulpit  erected  inside  one  of  the  par- 
lor set,  and  you  shall  deliver  a  prepared  lecture  to  a  select  circle  of  ac- 
quaintances, on  the  "  needs  and  nuisances  of  high  life  in  San  Francisco." 

Henry — All  right !  all  right !  I  will  do  it.  And  you  may  give  out  in- 
vitations to  that  effect.  But  not  a  guest  would  you  have  on  such  a 
"card"  ;  no  audience  except  our  family,  who  might  all  be  there  on  com- 
pulsion. But  you  announce  a  private  lecture  on  the  "  Wretchedness  of 
Bachelor  high  life  in  San  Francisco,"  and  your  floors  would  groan  with 
the  invited  parties  and  those  who  would  consider  themselves  invited. 
And  that  is  a  topic  which  I  could  most  consistently  treat,  on  the  same 
basis  as  all  other  popular  lecturers ;  for,  of  course,  I  have  no  experimen- 
tal knowledge  of  real  high  life  in  family,  except  that  I  have  seen  through 
bay-windows,  and  that  I  have  been  forced  to  overhear,  coming  up  to  my 
quarters  from  the  kitchen. 

Mrs.  Bryan — But  bachelor  high  life ! 

Henry — That's  what  I  remarked  :  if  it  would  do  to  lecture  on  such  a 
subject  before  a  promiscuous  audience.  Now  you've  got  on  your  things, 
let  us  start.  Come  !  altogether  for  the  same  down  train  ! 

[Exeunt — MR.  AND  MRS.  B.  and  HENRY.    JANE  enters,  and  she  and  BRIDGET 
clear  away  the  lunch. 

\Enter  CHARLOTTE  followed  by  ARTHUR.] 

Charlotte — Has  mother  gone  out  again  ? 

Jane — Just  gone,  with  your  father  and  uncle. 

Charlotte — Just  gone  out  ?    How  could  we  have  missed  them  ? 

Bi  idget— Easy  enough,  troth.  Sit  down  now,  and  I'll  bring  you  up  a 
fine  lunch.  The  old  folks  are  away,  now  you  can  have  it  all  comfortable 
[oggling  the  young  man]  (0,  but  that's  a  healthy  young  chap.  And  does 
that  cussed  Cural  think  to  cut  him  out,  with  his  shiners  in  the  grasp  of 
his  wrinkles  !  Divrt  a  bit  of  fear  of  it.)  [Aside. 

Charlotte — Why  don't  you  bring  us  up  the  lunch  if  you  are  going  to. 

Bridget — At  once.  Troth,  we'll  be  a  long  time  bringing  it  up,  to  give 
them  a  chance.  Holy  mother  of  Moses  1  but  he's  a  broth  of  boy.  And 
old  Cural  would  cut  him  out!  Ah  1  bad  luck  to  his  old  bones  that  ever 
marrowed  such  on  idea  at  all,  at  all.  [Aside. 

[Exit  JANE  and  BRIDGET.] 

Arthur — Tou  must  play  and  sing  once  for  me,  to-day. 

Charlotte — Now  you  stay  here,  and  I'll  go  into  the  parlor  and  play  a 
tune  that  will  just  suit  your  case. 

Arthur — And  yours,  too  ? 

Charlotte — Yes. 

Arthur— What  will  it  be  ? 

Charlotte — Why,  you'll  hear  it. 

Arthur — No  ;  but  you  must  tell  me. 

Charlotte — [Laughing  and  humming  as  she  dodges  around  Arthur  and 
escapes  from  the  room  :] 

"  "When  Johnny  comes  marching  home  1" 


16  DEPRECIATION. 

Arthur — I'll  go  and  whistle  an  accompaniment.  [Exit  CHARLOTTE  and 
ARTHUR. 

[Enter  JANE  with  lunch,  followed  by  BRIDGET.] 

Jane — "Why,  what's  becpme  of  the  pair.  Hark!  They've  gone  into 
the  parlor;  singing  soldier  songs.  I  believe  they'll  forget'all  about  their 
lunch. 

Bridget— Ler'era.  It'll  do  'em  no  harm.  Set  down  the  things.  Of 
course  they'll  forget  about  the  lunch.  But  we  must  not  let  it  be  wasted. 
Come!  Let's  take  a  bite.  Let  the  dear  creatures  enjoy  themselves. 
They'll  never  think  of  their  lunch.  [Eating  voraciously. 

Jane — 0,  they're  jewels  ! 

Bridget— When  are  they  going  to  the  church? 

Jane — I  don't  know. 

Bridget — Don't  know!  Been  here  as  long  as  you  have  and  don't  know  I 
You  take  away  my  appetite.  [Continuing  to  eat  heartily.']  I'll  know  to 
an  hour,  before  we  move  to  the  new  house. 


ACT    II. 

SCENE  I. — Scene  on  Montgomery  Street  in  front  of  Montgomery  Block. 
Crowd  of  excited  brokers.  Jobbing  and  hawking  going  on.  On  the  scene 
rushes  frantically  a  broker  with  a  handful  of  stock  certificates.  Catches 
a  party  violently  by  the  arm,  and  pulls  him  to  one  side. 

1st  Broker — Look  here!  Biggest  thing  ever  struck.  Branch  mint! 
Gold  Hill  District  [twitching  a  piece  of  rock  out  of  his  pocket]  Look  at 
that  rock  once,  and  weep !  The  drift  is  only  run  thirty  feet  from  the 
bottom  of  the  shaft. 

Major  .Dove— [Examining  rock]  That  looks  like  Empire  rock! 

1st  Broker — Don't  it!  No  rock  been  found  in  G-old  Hill  to  anywhere 
compare  with  it,  except  out  of  the  Empire. 

Major  Dove — [Finger  on  his  nose~\  Salt!  Salt! 

1st  Broker — 0,  no,  Major ! 

Major  Dove — 0,  yes,  Jim!     [Retires. 

1st  Broker — [Pulling  off  another  party]  Look  here!  Biggest  thing  ever 
struck!  Only  thirty  dollars  a  foot  just  now,  and  I  am  the  only  man  in 
the  city  who  has  got  any  of  the  rock.  [Exhibiting  rock. 

Capt.  Ilamon — What  is  it! 

1st  Broker — Jewett  &  Shepperd  1  Gold  HUH  Biggest  thing  out !  I 
can  show  you  extracts  from  the  Virginia  newspapers,  substantiating  the 
the  whole  mine !  Dead  open  and  shut  chance  for  making.  Will  go  up 
to  five  hundred  dollars,  sure  1 

Capt.  Ramon— Salt !  Salt ! 

1st  Broker — 0,  no,  Capt. ! 

Capt.  Ramon — 0,  yes,  Jim  1     [Retires. 

[1st  Broker  shakes  hands  with  a  number  of  his  fellows,  and  forms  the  ac- 
quaintance of  an  "  outside  party r,"  whom  he  pulls  to  one  side.'} 


DEPRECIATION.  17 

1st  Broker — Here  is  the  biggest  thing  you  ever  heard  of.  American 
Basin  Rock,  Humboldt  County.  You  can  buy  it  now  for  ten  dollars  a 
foot.  Has  Sheba  and  Ben  Franklin  Ledges,  both.  Just  look  at  this 
rock  [exhibiting same  specimen  as  before,]  thro'  this  microscope! 

Simon  Simmonds — Where  do  you  say  this  comes  from? 

1st  Broker — Humboldt  County,  Nevada  Territory.  Biggest  thing  out. 
Can  show  you  extracts  from  the  papers  about  it ;  but  the  editors  don't 
know  half  its  worth. 

Simon  Simmonds — How  much  can  it  be  bought  for,  now  ? 

1st  Broker — Ten  or  twelve  dollars  a  foot. 

Simon  Simmonds — It  is  splendid  rock ;  can  you  buy  me  fifty  feet  of  it 
to-day  ? 

1st  Broker — Just  come  down  to  my  friend's  office,  on  the  corner  of  the 
street  there.  I'll  bring  up  a  party  that  I  think  will  sell  for  ten  dollars. 
He  don't  suspect  the  result  of  these  late  developments.  At  any  event  we 
can  get  part  of  it  for  ten;  perhaps  half  of  it,  and  the  rest  we  can  get  for 
from  $12  to  $15.  [Exit  1st  BROKER  and  SIMON  SIMMONS. 

[2o  and  3D  BROKERS  have  been  conversing  and  watching,  together,  IST  BRO- 
KER and  SIMON  SIMMONDS.  Both  commence  laughing,  as  the  1st  and  his 
dupe  disappear.'] 

Id  Broker — Jim  has  got  a  new  leak.  Such  fellows  ought  to  be  cow- 
hided  off  the  pavement.  They  are  making  the  business  disreputable, 
and  very  soon  they'll  take  away  all  the  profits  of  it,  for  people  will  not 
invest, — not  on  the  street.  But  as  you  were  remarking:  if  we  can 
manage  to  get  hold  of  and  lock  up  that  amount  of  stock,  it  will  be  a  sure 
thing.  That  is,  unless  there  is  a  general  wholesale  depreciation.  But 
are  you  sure  you  can  get  such  an  amount  of  that  stock  on  that  short 
notice  ?  Won't  that  party  begin  to  smell  a  mice,  and  cover  his  own  ? 

3d  Broker — Not  a  bit  of  it.  I've  got  him  scared  out  of  his  boots  now. 
"We  can  induce  the  directors  to  levy  another  dollar  assessment,  and  not 
a  red  cent  of  it  will  he  pay  against  the  next  assessment  sale.  We  can 
buy  in  all  we  want  at  the  sale.  I  can  get  what  stock  Alph.  Bryan  has 
got  for  almost  nothing ;  he's  so  much  up  on  his  pins.  The  only  thing 
needed,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned,  is  to  prevent  bis  selling  to  anybody 
else,  until  such  time  as  we  want  it  or  are  sure  of  enough  without  it.  I 
think  it  is  a  clear  game  to  run  it  up  to  three  hundred  dollars  a  foot  in  one 
month  from  the  date  of  the  "starter."  [Enter  BOB  RiCKETj  Here  comes 
Bob ;  let  us  get  him.  down  to  the  office  and  sound  him,  the  first  thing. 
[Exeunt  two  Brokers  with  their  friend  "Bos." 

[  Well  dressed  Rough  slides  on  the  scene.     Broker  No.  4  starts  from  a  group 
and  greets  him.'] 

4th  Broker — Halloa,  Bill  1  how  are  you  ?  Where  the  devil  have  you 
been  for  a  long  time  past  ? 

Bill — Halloa,  Fred  !  how  are  you. 

&th  Broker — Well,  how  are  you !  and  where  have  you  been  for  a  long 
time  past? 

Bill — I've  been  up  in  Nevada  Territory. 

4th — What  have  you  been  doing  up  there  ?  dealing  from  the  bottom 
as  usual  ? 

2* 


18  DEPRECIATION. 

Sill— Not  a  bit  of  it.    Better  thing !  [winking]  Better  thing ! 

4th  Broker— How's  that. 

Sill — Something  new.     Better  thing. 

4th  Broker — Brokering. 

Bill — Damn  your  brokering. 

4th  Broker — Come,  now,  let  on.  Let's  know  what  it  is.  "Why,  here 
let  me  introduce  you  to — 

Bill — [Detaining  him]  Here,  here,  Fred,  don't  introduce  any  of  those 
blackguards  to  me.  I've  quit  keeping  a  game.  I  knew  them  all  three 
years  ago. 

4th  Broker — What  on  earth  have  you  beeS  doing  to  spruce  yourself  up 
so  much.  Tell  a  fellow. 

Bill — Fred,  there's  great  benefit  in  being  a  "pioneer"  in  a  new  mining 
country. 

4th  Broker — Why  so? 

Bill — Litigation  is  flourishing  and  big.  Witnesses  must  be  had.  Men 
are  wanted,  at  high  prices,  to  testify;  men  who  have  actually  been  there 
in  early  days;  you  conceive?  Let  us  go  and  take  our  choice  of  poisons. 

4th  Broker — That  has  been  your  lay  out,  has  it  ?     Good  thing? 

Bill— You  bet. 

4th  Broker — Have  you  become  a  lawyer  ? 

Bill — Lawyer  be  dam'd.  A  lawyer  is  not  half  the  account  of  a  good 
witness.  A  judge  first,  then  a  witness,  then  a  lawyer.  Available  wit- 
ness is  No.  2,  Fred.  Lawyers  (best  of  'em)  No.  3.  Judges,  No.  1.  Wit- 
ness, goodwituess,  available  witness,  pioneer  witness,  is  No.  2.  No.  2, 
you  bet.  Come  let's  go  and  suicide. 

[Enter  "NED"  on  the  Scene.] 

4th  Broker — Why,  halloa,  Ned!  how  are  you?  And  you  are  another 
mightj  well  got  up  Territorial  cuss.  Nif!  My,  what  style  I  I  heard 
you  were  over  in  Nevada.  Another  witness,  Bill?  eh? 

Bill — 0,  no,  0,  no.  He  ain't  on  that.  Better  thing  yet.  He  found 
an  immigrant  road  lying  around  loose,  and  considerably  traveled  over, 
and  so  he  just  strung  a  toll  gate  frame  across  the  highway  and  collected 
Ms  regular  little  income. 

4th  Broker — The  devil  he  did. 

Bill — That's  the  name  of  it.     Devilish  good  idea !  Ha!  Ha! 

Ned — Look  at  that  fellow  picking  that  man's  pocket.  Scampi  He'll 
get  away  without  detection,  and  he's  taken  a  handkerchief  worth  four 
bits. 

Bill — Your  ordinary  toll  charge,  eh!  Ned!  Come,  let's  all  go  and 
alkali.  [The  three  ex. 

[Enter  BROKER  No.  5.] 

5th  Broker — Zip!  Zip!  [flourishing  report  sheet]  Gould  and  Curry  is 
five  thousand  two  hundred!  No  use  in  talking;  the  goose  hangs  high. 
Pretty  well  for  a  little  hole  in  the  ground,  six  thousand  feet  above  the 
evel  of  the  sea. 

[Street  Brokers  gather  'round  the  comer,  who  has  the  day's  bulletin  of 

stock  prices.] 
6th  Broker — How's  Ophir  to-day? 


DEPRECIATION.  19 

1th  Broker— How's  Chollar? 
8th  Broker— 'Row's  Lady  Bryan? 
9th  Broker — How's  Potosi  ? 
IMh  Broker— How's  Savage? 
llth  Broker— How's  Norton? 

[Enter  EMPEROR  NORTON.] 

Emp.  Norton — I  will  issue  a  proclamation  clearing  the  streets  of  such 
crowds.  This  kind  of  excitement  must  be  stopped.  I  think  they  mean 
menace  to  my  empire.  I'll  have  some  of  these  men  transported  beyond 
the  high  seas. 

[Enter  COOMBS.] 

Coombs — Gentlemen,  can't  I  sell  you,  one  and  all,  a  ticket  in  my  lot- 
tery for  a  stereoscope  ?  Mr.  Nabl  is  now  the  treasurer  of  the  little  oper- 
ation, and  therefore  everybody  has  the  most  perfect  confidence  in  it. 
Mr.  Roman  has  subscribed,  and  a  number  of  other  eminent  citizens.  It 
will  surely  come  off  when  I  shall  have  sold  ninety  tickets.  Beautiful 
views  I  You  see  a  view  of  the  Gould  &  Curry  mill  at  one  turn  of  the 
nob — an  institution  in  which  all  you  brokers  wish  you  had  an  interest ; 
one  view  you  have  of  Virginia  City,  and  another  single  turn  of  the  nob 
brings  you  to  Ragtown.  Never  was  such  a  beautiful  article  offered  be- 
fore in  such  a  manner ;  such  an  instructive,  convenient  article  for  an  old 
man  to  give  as  a.  present  to  his  young  sweetheart.  Ha!  ha! — Cornel 
come  1  Now,  you,  sir,  subscribe.  Only  one  dollar !  Stocks  are  up,  and 
you  must  subscribe,  all  of  you.  Only  one  dollar  I 

6th  Broker — You  promised  to  sell  it  to  me  at  that  price. 

1th  Broker — You  are  a  liar! 

5th  Broker — I'll  publish  you  in  the  papers. 

1th  Broker — You  are  a  liar  I 

[Row,  policemen  enter,  make  arrests,  and  dear  the  scene. 


II — Dining  room  in  BRYAN'S  new  house.  JANE  discovered  en- 
gaged in  arranging  the  table  for  dinner.  BRIDGET  enters,  in  working 
dress,  seats  herself,  arms  akimbo,  sighing  with  fatigue. 

Bridget — Dear  me  1  But  I've  had  a  terrible  day's  work.  Madam's  and 
childers'  cloths  grow  more  dre'dful  every  week.  This  week  they've 
loads. 

Jane — Sure,  you're  always  complaining.  You  got  through  work  early 
to-day,  whatever  it  was.  It's  not  five  o'clock  yet.  You  are  always 
through  and  can  have  your  own  time  before  me. 

Bridget — Oh !  I  work  when  I  work.     And  my  work  is  work. 

Jane — It's  well  for  those  that's  able  to  stand  it,  and  gets  good  pay 
for  it. 

Bridget — What's  only  fiVe  dollars  a  month  more  than  your's  ? 

Jane — Out  every  night. 

Bridget — Not  half  the  opportunities  of  the  house  you  have.  Why,  I 
don't  understand  a  quarter  of  what's  going  on  in  this  family;  and,  sure, 
I'd  know  it  ail  if  I  was  fussing  about  all  the  mornings,  as  you  are. 

Jane — Well,  now,  I'd  just  like  to  change  of  mornings,  every  other  day 
•with  you,  if  you  likes. 


20  DEPRECIATION. 

Bridget — I'll  do  that  for  a  week  with  you.  That'll  be  long  enough  for 
you.  I  tho't,  sure,  the  mistress  was  going  to  have  another  girl. 

Jane — Faith,  they're  going  to  have  a  governess,  for  the  boy,  soon; 
and  Charlotte  is  to  have  a  waiting  maid  come  next  week — to  be  called 
Charlotte's  waiting  maid,  tho'  it's  the  madam  will  kill  time  for  her.  I'm 
sure  it's  been  nothing  but  a  boarding-house  for  seamstresses  since  they 
came  into  this. 

Bridget — And,  I  expect  you'll  have  to  wait  on  the  waiting  maid  ? — 
[Laughing.'] 

Jane — You  let  her  wait  there  until  I  do,  troth. — [Laughing  derisively.] 

Bridget — "Well,  Margaret  Magaragle  promised  to_be  here  very  early  to- 
night, to  go  out  with  me. 

Jane — You  are  always  going  out.  You  told  the  mistress  you  only 
wanted  three  nights  in  the  week  and  Sundays.  Sure,  you're  out  every 
night  these  two  weeks. 

Bridget — And  whose  business  is  it  but  my  own  ? 

Jane — Nobody's  business  but  your  own,  troth ;  for  divil  of  a  fellow 
have  you  raised  yet,  since  Patrick  as  good  as  threw  off  on  ye.  You've 
got  to  get  Margaret  Magaragle  to  go  out  with  you  and  rise  company 
for  ye. 

r  Bridget — "Well,  if  it's  the  likes  of  such  company  as  you  bring  around 
here  to  keep  you  in  o'  nights,  may  I  walk  the  streets  for  the  next  twenty 
years  before  I  catch  that  same.  Such  trash  !  I  wouldn't  be  looking  at 
the  likes  of  such. 

Jane — Ah  I  "We  hear  enough.  Divil  a  fear  of  your  catching  a  fellow 
at  all,  at  all. 

Bridget — Faith,  it's  aisy  to  make  a  raise  of  a  crowd  of  "  pick-ups.",1 

Jane — Not  "  aisy  ";  or  you'd  had  plenty  by  this  time. 

Bridget — 0,  go  on  with  your  errands.  I  wouldn't  be  bothering  my 
head  with  talking  to  you.  There's  not  one  of  your  chaps  I  couldn't 
pitch  out  of  the  second  story  window. 

Jane — There's  none  o'  them  would  go  up  so  high  with  you. 

[Enter  PATRICK.] 

Bridget — Come  here,  Patrick.  I've  got  some  copies  for  you  to  read. 
— [producing  package  of  letters  from  her  bosom.]  I  want  you  should  see 
if  you  can  make  them  out.  I  know  there's  a  dale  of  humor  in  them. 
I  heard  Miss  Charlotte  and  her  Uncle  making  great  glee  over  them,  last 
night,  as  late  as  when  I  came  in. 

[Patrick  seats  himself  on  a  side  table,  takes  the  package,  pulls  out  one  of 
the  letters  and  opens  it.] 

Bridget — Is  the  letters  bad  ?  [leaning  against  Pals  shoulder. 

Patrick — Not  very  bad;  [pushing  Bridget  from  him,  whilst  looking  in- 
tently at  the  letter]  but  it's  a  honey  letter,  and  it's  a  great  strain  on  my 
breast  to  read  it — [studying}.  Here,  Jane,  you  come  and  look  at  this. 
[JANE  comes  over  to  PAT,  who  puts  his  hand  on  her  head,  and  presses  it  to 
his  breast]  Now  it  begins  clear:  [reading,  with  Irish  accent. 

"My  dearest  dear:  The  long  day  has  tediously  worn  away,  and  the 
curtains  of  night  are  drawn  around  me.  The  fierce  shining  of  the  sun 
has  given  place  to  the  beautiful  beamings  of  the  moon." 

—0,  it's  a  honey  letter  \kissing  JANE. 


DEPRECIATION.  2l 

Bridget — Troth,  and  I  don't  see  what  they  found  to  laugh  about  in  it. 
pat — jfoj  it's  sarious.  [continuing  to  read: 

" the  moon. — the  moon. — the  moon ! 

What  the  blazes  the  raison  I  can't  go  beyond  that  moon?  [again  kissing 
JANE]     Oh! 

" the  moon.     Now,  in  this  '  witching  hour,' — for  it  has  just  struck 

twelve" [Sell  rings. 

Bridget — That's  the  mistress'  ring  for  you,  Jane. 

Jane — Let's  change  works  this  evening.     You  run  up  and  answer  it. 

Bridget — Ha !  you  stay  there  until  I  do. 

Jane — [releasing  herself  from  PAT'S  embrace,  and  sighing]  Well,  I 
know  it's  dinner  time ;  Mr.  Bryan  has  come  home,  I  guess.  [Exit  JANE. 

Pat — Bother  me,  but  I  think  he  has;  and  there's  the  off  horse  outside 
for  me.     He's  getting  him  out  of  manners,  riding  him  the  way  he  does. 
[Closing  letter,  and  replacing  it  in  package. 

Bridget — Ain't  you  going  to  finish  the  reading  ? 

Pat — I  came  across  a  word  that  was  too  much  for  me ;  and  the  horse 
must  be  waiting  outside.  I  expect  them's  little  Laura's  honey-notes ; 
and  it's  a  mighty  shame  for  you  to  be  staling  them. 

[Returning  package  to  Bridget — Exit. 

Bridget — [Replacing  package  in  her  bosom.]  The  divil's  own  cure  to 
the  pair  of  them.  This  comes  of  getting  him  a  fine  coachman's  place  in 
a  genteel  establishment — a  thing  he  wasn't  used  to — the  desaving  vaga- 
bond. Never  mind,  I'll  be  even  with  the  twain. 

[Enter  JANE.] 

Jane — Mr.  Bryan  will  not  be  home  until  late,  Mrs.  Bryan  is  going  out 
again,  and  dinner's  not  to  be  served  for  an  hour. 

Bridget — Troth,  I'll  be  hungry  enough  when  I  get  mine. 

[Enter  MARGARET  MAGARAGLE,  elegantly  dressed."] 

Bridget — Ah  !  Margaret,  you're  off  your  washing  earlier  than  any  girl 
in  the  country.  You  ought  to  be  off  the  hooks  soon. 

Margaret — Why  shouldn't  I  be  ?  I've  been  up  since  three  this  same 
blessed  Saint's  day. 

Jane — Who'd  know  it?  you're  blooming  as  a  beet. 

Margaret — Why,  what's  the  matter  with  you,  Jane  ?  you  look  as  yel- 
low as  a  carrot. 

Bridget — She's  got  the  dockin'  janders,  from  eating  her  fingers  with 
idleness. 

Jane — [Leaning  over  the  dining  .table."]  I  have  my  work  and  my  com- 
pany to  my  hands.  I  don't  beat  the  streets  for  the  bleach  of  my  com- 
plexion. 

Bridget— How  are  you  getting  along,  Margaret? 

Margaret — 0,  so  so, 

Bridget — What  queer  people  those  are  you  have  next  door  ? 

Margaret — 0,  do  you  know  that  old  bachelor,  I  was  telling  you  about, 
has  married — married  last  night.  You  see,  he  really  owns  that  corner 
property,  as  well  as  two  or  three  lots  to  the  west  of  us.  Well,  his 
brother's  family  were  so,  afraid  that  he'd  marry  some  young  creature,  and 


22  DEPRECIATION. 

have  children  of  his  own,  and  so  throw  them  out  of  the  place,  that  they 
brought  in  a  middle-aged  widow  woman,  who  had  no  children,  to  act  as 
a  kind  of  nurse  for  their  family.  Then  they  all  set  to  work  courting  this 
bachelor  brother  for  this  woman ;  and,  sure  enough,  last  night  they  got 
him  married  to  her.  And  he's  going  off  to  live  by  himself,  in  the  little 
house  to  the  right  of  us.  And  they've  finally  got  that  large,  beautiful 
new  house  he  built  and  elegantly  furnished,  all  to  themselves.  They 
feel  certain  that  their  children  will  come  in  for  all  his  property  now. 
And  I  really  believe  that  the  children  of  the  house  understand  the  dodge 
their  folks  have  been  playing;  I'm  sure  the  oldest  girl  does.  Misses  said 
she  fairly  wanted  to  give  the  old  fellow  a  hint  of  what  they  were  doing. 
She  says,  and  her  husband  says,  that  he's  a  smart  business  man,  and 
he's  made  lots  of  money  in  this  country ;  but  they  say  that,  like  all  old 
bachelors,  of  his  time  of  life,  he's  easy  wheedled  into  a  marriage  by  his 
blood  relations. 

Bridget — Oh !  then,  I'd  like  to  see  those  that'd  sing  Mr.  Henry  into  a 
match  that  want  of  his  own  notion.  The  Uncle  here.  Oh  !  but  he's  the 
strange  man.  Talk  about  the  women  having  secrets !  But  he's  the  most 
prying  old  chap  you  ever  could  lay  your  eyes  on.  There's  no  news  to 
him.  Sure,  he  edits  the  town.  And,  do  you  know,  I  think  he  doesn't 
let  a  night  skip  he's  not  up  in  those  gins'  room,  pumping  every  little 
thirg  of  the  day  from  them.  And,  then,  he  tells  them  hapes  of  goings- 
ons  among  his  acquaintances;  and  then  he  brings  up  the  books  every 
month  that  comes,  and  they  reads  them  up  there  together  till  all  hours. 

Jane — Troth,  the  children  would  run  wild  but  for  him. 

Bridget — I  believe  they  would.  I  believe  they'd  die  if  he  was  to  go 
away.  Oh!  but  they've  got  as  good  a  father— if  he  was  let.  But  he's 
not  let !  God  pity  him.  A  very  quiet  man.  You'll  scarce  hear  a  word 
out  of  his  head  after  he  comes  home  of  a  night.  And,  when  dinner  is 
over,  he'll  take  that  big  boy  of  his  up  in  his  arms,  with  a  mortal  sigh, 
and  press  him  to  his  heart,  and  pat  the  top  of  his  head,  and  look  into 
the  parlor  fire  so  mournful,  that  it's  dreadful  to  see  I 

Jane — How  he'll  start  when  the  Madam  speaks  I 

Bridget — Start  I  0,  but  it's  a  murdering  jump.  That  woman  keeps  him  in 
purgatory  all  the  whole  blessed  time.  I  wonder  he  doesn't  take  to  drink- 
ing, or  gambling,  or  something  of  that  kind.  If  he'd  the  Bank  of  Eng- 
land it  would  be  just  so.  She  don't  give  him  any  comfort,  but  dragging 
him  from  morn  to  night.  Ah!  but  Henry  Bryan,  the  master's  brother, 
he's  the  chap  that'd  soon  put  her  to  her  place  if  she  was  married  to  him. 
And,  as  it  is,  the  only  rest  the  man  of  the"  house  has,  is  when  he's  around 
and  throwing  cuts  at  her.  Oh!  if  I. only  had  Jane's  place,  I'd  know 
something  about  what's  going  on  in  this  house.  As  it  is,  I'm  lost  for  in- 
formation. You  see  they  want,  that  is,  the  madam  wants  Charlotte,  the 
oldest  girl  of  the  two,  to  marry  an  old  gentleman  of  their  acquaintance. 
Of  course,  the  girl  don't  want  to  do  it ;  and  I  think  the  father  is  not  for 
it,  and  I  know  this  uncle — the  same  I've  been  telling  you  about — is 
dreadfully  down  on  it.  But  the  mother — she's  the  one  I  She's  bent  on 
this  match.  I  can  gather  that  from  what  trifle  has  come  to  my  ears 
unawares.  Jane,  can  you  get  the  cook  to  let  us  have  a  little  soup ;  I'll 
perish  from  hunger  soon. 


DEPRECIATION.  23 

Jane — I'll  see.  [Exit. 

Margaret — Soup's  a  thing  we  don't  have  in  our  house. 

Bridget — No  1 

Margaret — Not  a  drop  since  I've  been  in  it,  going  on  six  weeks — it's 
all  one  dish. 

Bridget,— What's  that? 

Margaret — Pork  aud  beans.  "We  had  pork  and  beans  for  dinner  yes- 
terday ;  we  had  'em  again  this  morning,  and  I  heard  Madam  tell  the 
cook,  just  before  I  came  away  from  the  house  this  afternoon,  that  he 
might  warm  up  again  what  was  left  this  morning  for  to-day's  dinner. 
0,  it's  a  regular  Yankee  house;  everything  is  sweetened  with  molasses, 
and  that's  watery. 

Bridget — Sure,  those  Yankees  don't  know  how  to  live. 

Margaret — They're  too  mean.  Why,  that  man  is  worth  a  good  for- 
tune, but  he  minds  a  cent,  now.  They  don't  speak  of  bits  there  at  all; 
they  are  talking  of  cents;  they  are  always  talking  of  ten  cents 
and  twenty  cents.  I  don't  believe  I  ever  heard  that  woman  say 
"two  bits."  She's  always  patching  and  mending;  why,  it's  a  sight 
to  see  those  children's  underclothes  and  ihe  man's  shirts.  Why, 
they're  kind'o  quilted,  they're  so  patched.  And  she's  talking  every 
blessed  moment  of  "economy."  You  know,  for  lunch,  she  won't 
have  a  bit  of  fire  1  but  they  drink  their  coffee,  that  is  left  from  break- 
fast, cold.  And  three  pints  of  milk  does  the  whole  house — men,  wo- 
men ;  three  men  boarders  and  five  children,  one  of  the  children  not  two 
years  old — does  that  whole  house  a  day.  One  of  the  boarders  gave  her 
a  sharp  hint  the  other  day.  She  was  talking,  at  the  table,  of  the  great 
expense  of  raising  a  family  in  this  country ;  and,  amongst  other  things, 
she  mentioned  the  high  price  of  milk.  The  man  spoke  up,  and  said  he'd 
left  off  using  milk  on  account  of  its  expense,  when  he  was  keeping  house 
by  himself,  and  so  now  he  never  missed  it.  But,  law  !  what's  hints  to 
them  sort  of  creatures  ?  Sure,  there  wouldn't  any  of  the  men  board 
with  them,  only  they  all  work  for  the  man,  or  his  brother,  and  they're 
afraid  they'd  loose  their  places  altogether  if  they  left  there.  Sure,  the 
girls  are  crazy  to  raise  fellows  to  take  them  out  nights,  and  treat  them 
in  a  restaurant. 

Bridget — Did  you  raise  that  fellow  we  were  introduced  to  after  church 
last  Sunday  ? 

Margaret — He's  been  down  to  the  house  twice  this  week,  already  ; 
he's  a  nice  looking  fellow,  ain't  he  ? 

Bridget — Ah !  but  you  can't  tell  anything  about  the  likes  of  those. 
Ten  to  one,  he  has  a  wife  and  childers  in  the  States.  Is  he  an  American 
mon  ? 

Margaret — Indeed  he  is,  full-blooded. 

Bridget — I  didn't  think  so  from  his  spache.  Perhaps  he'd  been  drink- 
ing a  little  last  Sunday,  and  he'd  made  his  mouth  thick. 

Margaret — Divil  a  drop,  then  ;  for  he  told  me  he  belonged  to  the  Dash- 
aways. 

Bridget— -Do  you  think  you'll  strike  him  ? 

Margaret — Ah  1  what  do  I  care,  whether  or  no?  He's  coming  to  Ves- 
pers with  me  next  Sunday.  You  come  into  the  same  pew,  and  I'll  in- 


24  DEPRECIATION. 

troduce  you  to  him.  and  maybe  you  can  strike  him.  0,  do  you  remem- 
ber, I  was  telling  you  of  the  girl  at  the  house  I  was  at  last  having  such 
a  fine  beau  ? 

Bridget— 0,  yes. 

Margaret — Well,  he's  just  left  her  entirely.  You  know  I  told  you  she 
was  too  sweet  upon  him  to  hold  him.  I  wan't  a  bit  surprised  when  I 
heard  of  it;  I  was  certain  she  could  not  hold  her  cetch.  She  used  to 
hang  on  to  him,  coming  up  that  long  hilL  I  knew  he'd  get  worn  with 
her ;  and  I  know  she  never  asked  him  to  take  a  meal  of  food,  her 
people  are  so  stingy. 

[Enter  JANE,  followed  by  Cook,  with  soup,  slices  of  freshly-roasted  meat, 
and  all  the  substantial  and  side  and  desert  dishes  of  a  fashionable  dinner. 

Jane — [  While  arranging  articles  upon  the  table.']  Mrs.  Bryan  went  out 
just  now.  I  met  her  in  the  hall  as  I  was  going  down  to  the  kitchen. 
She'd  been  down,  giving  directions  to  Patrick  about  having  the  carriage 
ready  early  to-morrow.  They're  all  going  out  to  a  grand  spree.  Come! 
we'll  sit  down  and  have  our  square  meal.  Lay  off  your  things,  Mar- 
garet. I've  had  the  meat  cut  so  that  they  can't  tell  it,  after  the  roast 
has  been  put  back  in  the  oven,  and  browned  where  it  was  sliced. 

[They  draw  up  to  the  table.     Exit  cook. 

Bridget — I  expect  the  soup  is'nt  done  quite  9nough. 

Jane — [Sloping  in  th'e  act  of  serving  soup.'}  Hark  1  I  tho't  I  heard  some 
one  come  in  the  front  door,  with  a  latch  key. 

Bridget — You  must  be  mistaken. 

Jane — No  1  [dropping  soup  ladle  and  re-covering  tureen.']  There's  some 
one  coming  down  the  stairs,  now.  Two  or  three  persons.  Bridget,  take 
Margaret  up  to  your  room  by  the  other  flight.  It's  the  folks ! 

[Bridget  and  Margaret  retreat  hastily.  Margaret  snatching  up  her  bon- 
net and  shawl,  and  saying  to  Bridget : 

Margaret — You  can  dress  yourself  and  come  down  and  get  a  hearty 
supper  with  me,  after  our  dinner  is  over. 

Bridget — Troth,  I  will  that.  For  I'd  just  got  my  appetite  dre'dfully 
excited.  The  cook  swears  when  he's  bothered  in  the  kitchen  out  of  his 
own  meal  hours.  [Eexunt. 

[Enter  HENRY  BRYAN,  ELLEN  MASON  and  LAURA,  dressed  for  the  street.] 

Jane — I  saw  you  coming,  and  I  set  the  table  for  you  three  at  once. 
Your  Mother  just  went  out  for  an  hour,  and  she  said  Mr.  Bryan  wouldn't  be 
home  for  an  hour  later.  I  tho't  you'd  want  your  dinner  the  moment  you 
came  in. 

Laura — [removing  her  outer  garments.]  Why,  we  thought  we  were 
very  late ;  and  that  Ma  and  Pa  must  be  eating  their  dinner  by  this  time. 
So  we  hurried  right  down  stairs  so  soon  as  we  came  in. 

Ellen — [doffing  bonnet]     I'm  glad  the  dinner  is  ready,  anyway. 

Jane — I  knew  you'd  be  hungry,  so  I  bro't  it  right  on,  as  soon  as  I  seen 
you  coming.  It's  all  nice  and  hot.  The  cook  carved  the  meat,  so  that 
he  could  put  the  roast  back,  against  the  madam  came.  0, 1  took  the 
castor  down  this  morning  to  scour  it.  I  forgot  to  bring  it  up. — [Exit. 


DEPRECIATION.  25 

[The  party  seat  themselves  at  the  table,  and  HENRY  proceeds  to  serve 


Laura — What  a  good,  faithful,  thoughtful  girl  Jane  is,  to  have  every- 
thing ready  for  our  dinner,  and  it  all  on  the  table,  just  as  we  got  home 
from  that  long  ride.  I  declare,  I  must  buy  her  another  dress. 

Ellen — You  ought,  indeed. 

Henry — I  suppose  she  did'nt  have  this  dinner  served  up  in  this  queer 
way  for  herself  and  Bridget,  and  the  coachman. 

Ellen  and  Laura — Pshaw! 

Laura — What  a  mean  suspicion,  Uncle  ? 


ACT    III. 

SCENE  1 — Parlor  in  the  NEW  house  of  the  BRYANS,  elegantly  furnished. 
CHARLOTTE  BRYAN  discovered,  engaged  in  arranging  flowers  in  a  vase. 

Charlotte — I  do  hope  that  old  pest  will  not  call  this  evening;  I  want 
to  have  a  good  long  walk  with  Arthur.  I  would  rather  have  a  walk  any 
clear  night,  than  a  ride  on  a  dusty  day.  The  idea  that  Mother  has — 
have  me  throw  off  on  Arthur,  and  take  up  wifli  this  old  man  1  How 
absurd  it  is.  It  can't  be  did.  Young  folks  can't  be  commanded  in  these 
things  as  they  could  be  in  very  old  times — the  times  we  read  about  in 
old  novels.  I  don't  want  his  money,  and  as  for  having  affection  for  him 
by  and  by,  as  Mother  says,  I  can't  see  it.  I  don't  even  have  a  feeling  of 
reverence  for  the  old  chap.  My  bump  of  reverence  never  was  large,  I 
am  afraid,  and  I  think  it  has  diminished  much  since  Cural  came  a-court- 
ing.  Ha !  ha !  [Singing — 

"When  this  cruel  war  is  over." 
[Singing  through  line :] 

"  In  your  suit  of  blue." 

— Didn't  he  look  handsome  last  night,  in  his  suit  of  blue  ?  0,  how  I  love 
that  boy!  and  how  I  hate  that  old  fellow!  Ah!  there's  no  telling. 
I  wish  Laura  would  come  home ;  I'm  dreadful  tired  staying  here  all  this 
afternoon,  alone.  I  have  a  good  mind  to  take  a  ride  in  the  cars,  as  far 
as  "  The  Willows."  I  wonder  what  made  them  dismiss  all  the  hand- 
some conductors  they  had  when  the  roads  were  first  opened  I  I'd  take 
a  promenade  down  Montgomery  street,  but  Laura  says  it's  getting  to  be 
very  vulgar  to  do  that.  [Looking  out  of  window.']  0,  here  comes  Mama 
across  the  street,  and  a  man  behind  her  with  two  bundles.  Mama  don't 
like  to  go  shopping.  0,  no.  She'd  buy  goods  until  there  was  not  a 
clerk  in  the  store  who  was  able  to  stand  up  and  measure,  if  she  just  had 
her  full  privilege  for  one  twenty-four  hours.  I'll  warrant  she's  almost 
ready  to  swear,  because  the  carriage  broke  down  yesterday  with  our 
party.  And  there  come  the  two  dress-makers.  0  dear !  I  was  in  hopes 
that  we  were  not  going  to  have  any  more  new  dresses  this  week.  I 
wanted  to  go  to  San  Jose  next  Saturday ;  instead  of  that,  we're  fated  to 


26  DEPRECIATION. 

be  in  church  next  Sunday,  with  the  first  fashions.  I  don't  feel  half  as 
happy  as  I  did  when  we  were  down  at  the  old  place,  and  on  the  old  al- 
lowance. Here  they  come  up  the  steps;  how  the  man  with  the  bundles 
pants  I 

[Enter  MRS.  BRYAN.] 

Mrs.  Bryan — "Why,  Charlotte,  you  here  alone !  I  met  Mr.  Cural,  as  I 
was  going  down  this  noon,  and  told  him  you  were  keeping  house  by 
yourself  to-day.  I  expected  he  would  have  taken  the  hint,  and  im- 
proved the  time  to  call  upon  you. 

Charlotte — Mother,  you  are  cruel ;  there  is  no  other  name  for  it.  You 
are  downright  cruel. 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  hope  you  will  learn  sense,  one  of  these  days. 

Charlotte — I  hope  you  will  learn  sense  and  humanity. 

Mrs.  Bryan — [laying  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  with  air  of  surprise"] — 
Why,  Charlotte,  you  are  impertinent  to  your  mother  I 

Charlotte — Mother,  I  wish  to  talk  with  you  very  plainly  about  this  old 
man  Cural,  whom  you  seem  to  suppose  you  can  induce  or  force  me  to 
marry. 

Mrs.  Bryan — And  I  wish  to  talk  with  you,  Charlotte,  very  plainly, 
respecting  this  young  man  Arthur,  this  half-fledged  lieutenant,  whom 
you  seem  to  think  you  can  encourage  without  my  consent,  or  that  of 
your  father. 

Charlotte — I  am  engaged  to  him,  already ;  and  he  first  visited  me  with 
your  sanction. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Engaged !  He  never  visited  you,  in  the  character  of  a 
lover,  with  my  sanction.  Our  families  have  long  been  intimate,  and  I 
had  no  thought  of  his  courting  you,  until  within  a  few  weeks  past. 

Charlotte — Ma,  do  you  think,  for  a  moment,  that  you  can  force  me  to 
marry  against  my  will  ?  Those  things  are  in  the  days  of  the  past,  or 
they  happen  in  other  countries,  or  in  families  very  differently  composed 
from  ours. 

Mrs.  Bryan — As  a  general  rule,  daughters  are  much  more  susceptible 
now,  than  they  used  to  be,  to  those  principles  of  propriety,  and  those 
social  advantages  which  should  govern  all  men  and  women  in  the  higher 
walks  of  life,  in  choosing  for  marriage.  Charlotte,  I  don't  expect  you  to 
consider  yourself  as  under  any  despotic  authority,  controlling  your 
wishes  as  to  a  good  marriage.  I  expect  you  will  hear  to  reason,  and  act 
upon  reason  and  policy,  notwithstanding  any  fancy  you  may  have  as  a 
school-girl  for  a  school-mate,  or  a  young  man  acquaintance,  who  has 
been  privileged  with  a  somewhat  intimate  association  with  the  family. 
I  don't  want  you  to  think,  for  one  moment,  that  I  would  attempt  to  force 
you  to  do  anything  against  your  best  judgment.  You  must  let  your 
judgment  take  into  consideration  the  reasons  given  you  by  me  and  by 
your  father;  then  you  will  judge  right,  I  expect. 

Charlotte — I  don't  think  Father  has  any  desire  that  I  should  favor  the 
suit  of  Mr.  CuraL 

Mrs.  Bryan — Your  father,  my  dear,  is  not  a  man  likely  to  express  to 
you,  hastily,  his  real  desire  or  feeling  on  such  a  subject;  and,  besides, 
you  ought  to  know  and  fully  understand,  by  this  time,  men  are  not  good 
judges  in  regard  to  the  best  marriages  for  their  daughters.  You  know 


DEPRECIATION.  27 

they  don't  see  as  plainly  as  mothers  must  about  such  matters  ;  and  they 
very  rarely  interfere,  to  any  extent,  because  they  feel,  themselves,  that 
they  don't  know  much  about  the  business. 

Charlotte — I  don't  understand,  yet,  why  you  should  wish  me  to  favor 
Mr.  Cural. 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  have  tried  to  explain  to  you,  several  times. 

Charlotte — "We  have  now  an  abundance  of  means.  He  is  an  elderly 
man  ;  he  must  be  fifty,  for  a  day. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Forty-four  years  of  age,  I  think  he  says  he  is. 

Charlotte — Then,  there  is  bad  evidence  as  to  character,  against  him ; 
because  he  looks  so  much  older  than  he  really  is. 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  don't  think  that  he  looks  over  forty-four. 

Charlotte — I  can't  look  with  your  eyes,  mother ;  not  on  that  subject 
But,  Mother,  really  and  truly,  would  you  advise  me,  in  all  seriousness 
to  cast  out  all  the  hopes  I  confess  I  have  in  a  marriage  with  Arthur,  and 
unite  myself,  a  girl  of  nineteen,  with  this  man  Mr.  Cural  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  advise  it;  I  urge  it;  I  do  it  for  your  good.  He  is  im- 
mensely wealthy ;  will  "set  up"  in  magnificent  style.  You  will  have 
all  that  heart  can  desire. 

Charlotte — No,  Mother,  not  all  that  the  heart  can  desire  ;  not  all  that 
my  heart  can  desire.  If  you  had  said  all  that  vanity  could  desire,  you 
might  have  been  right.  My  heart  is  with  another;  and  even  with  a 
splendid  establishment  at  my  command,  I  should  not  be  vain,  with  such 
a  husband  connected  with  it. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Charlotte,  if  the  svstem  of  domestic  tyranny  which  is 
exercised  in  compelling  a  daughter  to  wed  whom  the  parents  will,  is  a 
thing  of  the  past,  or  of  less  civilized  nations,  this  romance  of  attachment 
which  you  profess  is  more  surely  a  thing  of  the  long  gone  and  supersti- 
tious past;  it  is  still  talked  of  .in  books,  I  know — thin  covered  books — 
and  probably  some  young  girls  do  imagine  that  the  sentiment,  as  books 
describe  it,  does  still  exist.  They  must  fancy  they  experience  it  when 
they  have  slight  emotions  of  pleasure  at  meeting  such  or  such  a  person ; 
but  I  think  even  that  is  not  often  the  case,  now-a-days.  It  is  one  of  the 
best  evidences  of  our  enlightenment  and  high  state  of  civilization  and 
common  sense  that  there  is  no  pretense,  in  the  rational  portion  of  com- 
munity, of  any  such  thing  as  is  described  as  love  in  knight-errantry 
books.  The  novels  that  describe  any  such  passion  as  existing  to-day,  or 
believed  in  to-day,  have  to  join  it  with  all  those  advantages  to  which  I 
have  alluded.  There  is  esteem  and  affection ;  but,  among  sensible  folks 
to-day  in  our  land,  there  is  no  such  silly  thing  as  love. 

Charlotte — Mother,  were  you  ever  in  love  ?  or  do  you  think  you  ever 
were? 

Mrs.  Bryan — Never,  I  thank  God;  no  one  can  really  accuse  me  of 
that ;  it's  an  absurdity  I  never  believed  in,  or  gave  expression  of  be- 
lief in. 

Charlotte — Perhaps  not ;  but  Father  was  in  love ! 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  think  not ;  I  never  considered  him  such  a  fool. 

Charlotte — 0,  Mother!  you  ought  not  to  say  that;  for  it  was  you  he 
was  in  love  with. 

Mrs.  Bryan — My  dear,  ours  was  a  very  sensible  courtship— one  of  es- 
teem and  mutual  regard — we  had  no  nonsense  about  it. 


28  DEPRECIATION. 

Charlotte — Ijncked  up  a  bundle  of  letters  on  the  top  of  the  bookcase 
bureau  you  moved  into  my  room  from  yours,  two  or  three  months  ago, 
in  the  old  house.  They  were  letters  from  Father  to  you  [laughing] ;  I 
read  them — every  one  of  them. 

Mrs.  Bryan — You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself. 

Charlotte — I  was  ashamed  of  Father,  Mother.  I  think  he  was  so 
silly!  [laughing.']  "Why,  I  never  could  have  dreamed  that  he  was  such 
a  poor,  simple  man. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Where  is  the  package  ? 

Charlotte — I  burned  the  package. 

Mrs.  Bryan — You  did  very  wrong  to  read  those  letters.  Your  father 
was  a  foolish  man  to  write  them.  But  it  is  not  at  all  proper  for  a  mother 
to  talk  with  her  daughter  about  matters  before  the  parents'  marriage ;  it 
is  unpleasant,  and  productive  of  no  good;  children  ought  not  to  know 
anything  about  those  matters. 

Charlotte — I  see:  you'd  like  to  change  the  subject,  on  the  plea  of  bad 
taste. 

Mrs.  B/yan — Your  father  never  got  any  encouragement  from  me  to 
make  such  a  fool  of  himself,  as  I  remember  he  did  in  some  letters,  which 
I  was  very  stupid  in  preserving. 

Charlotte — Ah !  but,  Mother,  you  did  encourage  him  [approaching  her 
mother].  There  were  one  or  two  letters  in  the  package  that  were  from 
you  to-him ! 

Mrs.  Bryan — You  are  mistaken. 

Charlotte— No. 

Mrs.  Bryan — You  must  be  mistaken.  If  you  had  preserved  the  pack- 
"age  you  would  have  found  that  you  had  misread  the  direction.  Your 
father  sometimes  wrote  a  very  feminine  hand.  They  were  all  his  letters. 
I  presume  you  looked  them  over  hastily,- knowing  you  were  doing  very 
wrong  all  the  while.  I  must  go  up  stairs. 

Charlotte — Ah  !  Mother,  you  cannot  get  off  in  that  way.  Although  I 
burned  the  package — that  is,  although  I  burned  the  letters  of  Father's 
which  were  in  the  package — I  preserved  those  of  yours  which  I  found 
there.  I  knew  you  would  not  care  to  keep  Father's  trash,  but  I  could 
not  tell  but  Father  would  like  to  keep  your  notes;  and  I  have  read  them 
over  and  over  again,  with  the  greatest  delight. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Charlotte,  where  are  those  letters  ? 

Charlotte — Do  you  confess,  Mother  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — Where  are  those  letters? 

Charlotte — 0,  Mother,  you  know  you  never  wrote  anything  of  the 
kind  that  I  describe;  you  are  certain  you  never  did  to  Father.  You 
know  I  was  only  joking !  ^ 

Mrs.  Bryan — Charlotte,  go  and  bring  me  those  letters,  at  once. 

Charlotte — Why,  did  you  really  write  them,  Mother?     Ha!  ha!  ha! 

Mrs.  Bryan — [approaching  her  daughter  threateningly,  as  CHARLOTTE 
retreats  toward  the  doorJ] — Bring  those  letters  down  at  once,  or  I'll  have 
you  shut  up  in  your  room  for  a  fortnight. 

Charlotte — How  can  you  say  so,  when  you  want  and  expect  me  to  en- 
tertain Mr.  Cural,  to-night,  at  the  party? 

Mrs.  Bryan— Til  have  you  confined  to  your  room  for  a  fortnight. 


DEPRECIATION.  29 

Charlotte— Why,  Mother,  if  I  was  only  sure  you  wrote  those  letters,  I 
could  take  a  fortnight's  worth  of  fun  out  of  them,  solitary  and  alone. 
Did  you  really  write  them  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — You  hussy,  you !  bring  me  those  letters,  at  once. 

Charlotte— Mother,  I  obey !  [Exit. 

Mrs.  Bryan — The  little  fool  1  What  shall  I  do  with  the  girl  ?  She 
always  was  a  torment.  To  think  that  she  should  have  deliberately  read 
those  foolish  letters  of  mine,  which  I  now  recollect  were  tied  in  the 
bundle  with  her  father's.  How  unfortunate  that  I  didn't  burn  them  long 
ago,  as  I  often  proposed  doing  I 

[Re-enter  CHARLOTTE.] 

Charlotte — "Why,  Mother,  I  cannot  find  the  letters  where  I  am  confi- 
dent I  left  them.  I  would  have  searched  longer,  but  I  thought  you 
would  be  anxious  for  me  to  come  back.  Come  up  stairs,  Mother,  and 
help  me  look  for  them ;  I  am  afraid  I  have  mislaid  them,  where  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  find  them  for  a  long  time  [glancing  mischievously  at  her 
mother].  I  dare  say  I  have  put  them  away  so  very  carefully  that  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  find  them  until  some  accident  discovers  them,  or  turns 
them  up  for  me. 

Mrs.  Bryan — You  sit  down  here  until  your  father  comes,  /will  go  up 
and  search  your  room  ;  I  think  /can  find  them. 

Charlotte — That's  right,  Mother.  I  will  sit  here.  You  had  better  go 
up  stairs,  anyway,  for  I  see  Uncle  Henry  coming  across  the  street. 

Mrs.  Bryan — What  of  that ! 

Charlotte — Nothing ;  except  he  might  observe  that  you  had  been  ex- 
cited, and  then  he'd  be  apt  to  want  to  know  the  cause,  and  so  forth,  and 
so  forth.  He  might  suspect,  you  know  ! 

Mrs.  Bryan — Suspect  what!  [approaching  Charlotte,  from  the  door, 
through  which  she  was  about  departing.']  Suspect  what.  You  have  not 
told  him  of  this,  have  you  ? 

Charlotte — 0,  Mother,  we  have  had  the  jolliest  times  over  the  whole 
correspondence!  0,  such  fun! 

Mrs.  Bryan — You  minx !  You  hussey !  You  thief!  What  do  you 
mean  ?  [Pursuing  her  daughter  round  the  room  and  attempting  to  box  her.~\ 

[  Enter  HENRY.] 

Henry — Here !     Here !     What's  the  row  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — [turning  sharply  upon  Henry. ,]  Henry  Bryan,  I  want  you 
to  pick  up  your  duds  and  clear  out  of  this  house ;  and  never,  never,  en- 
ter it  again.  Never  presume  to  cross  my  threshold  again,  sir. 

Henry — Yery  good.     It  will  take  me  about  a  day  to  pack. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Don't  leave  a  thing  belonging  to  you  in  the  house. 

Henry — Not  a  letter,  madam.     [Exit  MRS.  BRYAN,  in  towering  passion.] 

Henry— [seating  himself.]    Discovered  about  those  letters? 

Charlotte — Yes. 

Henry — You  ought  not  to  have  let  that  out. 

Charlotte — I  could  not  help  it,  Uncle  Henry.     It  was  utterly  impos- 
sible to  hold  it  back.     It  came  in  so  pat  and  irresistible,  right  in  the 
midst  of  one  of  Mother's  tirades  against  sentimentality  and  romance,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing. 
3* 


30  DEPRECIATION. 

Henry — 0,  it  came  in  as  a  matter  of  argument  ? 

Charlotte — Just  DO. 

Henry — 0 !  Did  you  tell  your  Mother  that  you  did  not  let  me  know 
who  the  authors  of  the  letters  were,  until  you  had  finished  the  reading 
of  all  of  them  to  me? 

Charlotte — She  did  not  give  me  a  chance  to  explain  anything,  after  the 
secret  was  out. 

Henry — You  must  tell  your  Mother  about  that.  For  I  would  not  be 
guilty  of  prying,  as  she  now  supposes.  The  real  fact  is,  I  had  heard 
every  one  of  them  before.  Alfred  read  them  to  me  while  he 
was  courting.  But,  I  had  forgotten  them.  Couldn't  have  identified 
their  writers.  All  love  letters,  like  little  babies,  look  alike — at  least 
to  the  inexperienced ;  dumpy  and  delicate,  and  very  red  in  the  face. 

[Enter  BRIDGET.] 

Bridget — Master  Henry,  the  Lord  pardon  me !  But  I've  the  small 
bundle  of  copies.  The  Lord  pardon  me.  I  took  them  out  of  Miss  Char- 
lotte's bureau,  myself;  so  there's  no  mortal  sin  done,  except  to  myself. 
I  heard  ye;s  laughing  over  them,  and  I  tho't  there  was  something  mon- 
strous queer  in  the  copies,  and,  so,  faith — the  Lord  pardon  me — I  tho't 
I'd  borrow  them,  yesterday,  for  Patrick  to  read  to  us.  Sure,  I  didn't 
see  any  harm  of  that.  And  I  didn't  intend  any  mortal  sin  in  taking 
them. 

Charlotte — Where  are  they  now  ? 

Bridget — I  have  them  snug  in  my  vest  pocket.  [Taking  them  out  of 
Tier  bosom.']  Here  they  are,  sure,  and  nothing  the  worst  for  our  bit  of  a 
trial  to  read  them.  God  bless  the  mistress  and  master,  we  could  not 
make  more  than  half  out ;  and  that  same  we  could  not  understand. 
Sure,  we  tho't  it  was  Miss  Laura's  writing,  until  we  excidentaly  over- 
heard ye's  and  Miss  Charlotte  scraming  over  your  own  Mother's  flesh 
and  blood,  in  her  younger  days. 

Henry — That  will  do  for  you,  Bridget.  Leave  the  letters  upon  the 
table.  [Bridget  lays  letter  bundle  on  the  card  waiter.'] 

Bridget — I  expect  Mr.  Henry,  now  there's  two  of  us  have  warning? 

Charlotte — [laughing.]  Yes,  I  can  promise  you  warning.  How  dare 
you  take  anything  out  of  my  bureau,  without  permission  or  direction? 

Bridget — Oh!  Troth,  you'll  have  your  Mother's  way  of  spache,  on 
that  same  point,  when  your  turn  comes.  [Exit  BRIDGET.] 

Charlotte — What  impudence  I  How  can  I  get  those  letters  up  stairs, 
now? 

Henry — I'll  take  charge  of  their  delivery  to  your  Mother.  You  go 
down  into  the  dining-room  for  a  few  minutes,  and  I  will  send  for  your 
Mother  and  explain  matters  for  us  all,  myself  in  particular. 

[Exit  CHARLOTTE.  HENRY  rings  bell  and  dispatches  servant,  who  an- 
swers, for  MRS.  BRYAN.] 

[Enter  MRS.  BRYAN.] 

Henry — Your  letters  are  on  the  table.  It  seems  that  Bridget  had 
them.  She  noticed  some  sport  made  over  them,  and  took  them 
out  of  Charlotte's  bureau,  thinking  her  cousin,the  coachman — Pat- 
trick—could  read  them.  No  harm  done;  they  could  not  make 


DEPRECIATION.  31 

them  out.  I  ought  to  say,  for  myself— what  Charlotte  must  con- 
firm— I  did  not  know  that  they  were  your  letters  until  they  had  been 
read  to  me,  the  night  the  laugh  was  had  over  them.  Though  I  ought  to 
have  recognized  them — Alfred  read  them  to  me  years  and  years  ago. 

Mrs.  Bryan — He  always  was  a  fool  for  making  a  confident  of  you, 
though  you  are  his  brother. 

Henry — Good  afternoon,     [going.]    '• 

Mrs.  Bryan — Dinner  must  be  most  ready. 

Henry — Do  I  dine  with  you,  to  day  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — Why,  certainly.  I  would  not  have  Alfred  know  any- 
thing about  this.  Don't  tell  him  I  told  you  to  leave  the  house. 

Henry — Not  for  the  world.  I  have  too  much  consideration  for  his 
feelings. 

Mrs.  Bryan — And — And — don't  go. 

Henry — No,  indeed.     I  have  too  much  consideration  for  your  feelings. 

[Exit  HENRY.] 
[Enter  ALFRED.] 

Mr.  Bryan — Ah!  My  dear,  what  is  new  in  the  thread  and  needle  line, 
to-day? 

Mrs.  Bryan — The  dress  makers  are  in  the  girls'  room  at  work,  late  as 
it  is.  You  can  go  and  see  for  yourself.  I  think  I  have  bought  some 
elegant  patterns.  But,  Alfred,  my  dear,  I  want  you  to  speak  to  Char- 
lotte, this  evening,  without  fail,  in  relation  to  her  conduct  toward  Mr. 
Cural,  and  her  encouragement  of  that  young  fellow,  Arthur. 

Mr.  Bryan — I  don't  like  the  business.  Do  you  seriously  think  Cural 
would  be  a  suitable  match  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — Of  course  I  do. 

Mr.  Bryan — I  have  my  doubts  about  it ;  even  if  his  age  be  not 
Counted  an  objection.  As  for  Charlotte's  encouragement  to  Arthur,  why 
thatrs  amounts  to  nothing.  He  is  going  away  soon,  in  the  army, ;  and 
if  that  match  should  not  be  a  proper  one,  there  will  be  abundance  of  time 
and  opportunity  and  occasion  to  break  it.  Let  them  part  natu:ally, 
without  our  saying  anything  to  get  up  a  morbid  sympathy  between 
them ;  and  absence  and  new  companions,  such  as  we  may  choose,  will 
have  all  the  desired  effect  in  the  way  of  removing  her  attachment  or  ro- 
m  mtic  reg  ets  for  that  boy. 

Mrs.  Bryan — But  you  see  Mr.  Cural  expects  a  distinct  answer  from  us 
and  from  Charlotte  at  once.  He  will  "setup"  in  superb  style.  You 
know  what  we  suffered  from  poverty  in  the  early  part  of  our  married 
life.  Don't  let  us  allow  the  possibility  of  such  trials  to  our  children — 
our  daughters — if  we  can  prevent  it.  And  now  we  can  insure  against 
it  for  Charlotte.  "Wealth  and  luxury  are  pressed  in  the  suit  for  her. 
Alfred,  I  want  you  to  be  sure  to  speak  to  Charlotte  about  this  matter  to- 
night ;  and  I  want  you  to  strenuously  urge  her  to  accept  Mr.  Cural' s 
proposition  at  once.  You  have  a  great  deal  more  influence  over  her 
than  I  have,  I  regret  to  say.  She  treats  my  arguments  as  if  they  were 
contemptible.  She  is  full  of  the  nonsense  of  sentiment. 

Mr.  Bryan — A  good,  true-hearted  girl  1  I  don't  think  you  are  right 
about  the  suitableness  of  this  match  with  Cural.  But  I  will  talk  with 
Charlotte  about  it. 


32  DEPRECIATION. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Yon  must  urge  it ! 

Mr.  Bryan — So  far  as  I  can. 

[Enter  JANE.] 

Jane— Dinner  is  ready,  madam.  {Exit  JANE. 

Mrs.  Bryan— Come,  let  us  go  down  to  dinner.  I  will  arrange  for  you 
to  see  Charlotte  here  this  evening  without  interruption.  Now,  urge  Mr. 
Cural's  favor  upon  her  strongly,  my  dear.  {Kissing  Mr.  B. 

Mr.  Bryan — I  will  be  down  in  a  minute.     You  have  the  dinner  served. 

[Exit  Mrs.  BRYAN. 

Mr.  Bryan — [throwing  himself  upon  a  lounge] — 0  heavens!  my  wife 
is  a  heartless  woman,  I  almost  believe.  That  parents  should  decently 
seek  eligible  marriages  for  their  children,  see  to  it  that  they  are  not 
wedded  to  downright  poverty,  is  right,  right,  right.  But  to  marry  my 
dear,  good  daughter  Charlotte  to  that  old  foreign  debauche"  1  Why,  if 
Charlotte  sought  such  a  match  instead  of  her  mother,  I  would  have  her 
kidnapped  and  taken  to  Japan  for  a  three  years'  residence.  I  am  glad 
to  believe  she  will  be  stubborn  and  unyielding  against  the  proposition, 
the  very  thought.  So,  I  can  talk  and  talk  to  suit  her  mother,  and  give 
her  oceans  of  good— (bah  !  bad) — unheeded  parental  advice.  God  help 
my  child  to  see  my  insincerity,  if  her  mother  superintends  our  interview, 
as  I  know  she  intends  to.  Let  old  Cural  look  elsewhere.  There  are 
plenty  of  young  misses  who  will  jump  for  a  runaway  match  with  him. 
Not  my  daughter ;  not  my  dear,  good  Lotty.  No.  [Exit  Mr.  B. 

[Enter  CHARLOTTE.] 

Charlotte — I  wonder  what  mother  really  hurried  me  through  dinner  for 
so  anxiously  I  Wanted  me  to  come  upjhere  and  stay,  so  as  to  entertain 
any  visitors  that  might  call  while  the  family  were  at  dinner.  She  never 
suggested  anything  of  the  kind  before.  I  don't  think  that  was  the  true 
reason.  I  was  not  half  through  dinner.  How  troubled  papa  looks ! 
He  fairly  seemed  to  shun  my  eyes.  I  am  going  to  get  him  up  in  my 
room  to-night,  and  comb  his  hair  and  make  him  comfortable.  I  wonder 
what  mother  could  have  been  so  anxious  to  have  me  come  up  here  for  I 
To  wait  for  visitors,  if  any  called  1  Wait  for  visitors  1  Pshaw !  Well, 
if  a  visitor  call  before  they  get  through  dinner,  I  will  answer  the  door 
bell.  I  didn't  hesitate  to  do  that  every  time  in  the  old  place.  [Door 
Ml  rings.]  I  will  answer  it.  Hold  on,  though ;  I  will  look  out  and  see 
who  it  is  first.  [Looking  out]  Whoever  it  is,  he  or  she  is  so  close  up 
to  the  door,  on  the  sill,  that  I  can't  see  who  it  is  or  what  it  is,  or  anything 
about  it.  It  must  be  a  man  or  a  boy.  A  woman's  dress  would  certainly 
show,  unless  she  has  left  off  her  hoops.  It  must  be  a  man.  If  it  is 
that  old  Cural,  I'll  run  and  hide.  [Door  bell  again  rings.]  There  goes 
the  bell  again.  There's  a  hand  on  the  bannister.  It  is-no— -yes — it's 
a  blue  sleeve  with  brass  buttons  on  the  cuffs.  It's  Arthur — it  is  Arthur  I 
It  can't  be  possible  mother  knew  he  was  coming.  [Running  to  the  door, 
and  calling  out  as  she  goes.]  Jane  I  Jane  I  you  need  not  answer  the  door 
bell ;  mother  told  me  to  stay  up  and  see  to  visitors.  Don't  come  up. 
I'll  see  who  is  at  the  door.  [Exit ;  then  re-enter  CHARLOTTE,  hand-in- 
hand  with  ARTHUR.]  Dear,  dear  Arthur,  what  has  kept  you  away  so 
long? 


DEPRECIATION.  33 

Arthur — Ob,  I've  been  on  a  long  journey  since  I  saw  you  last — been 
away  three  weeks. 

Charlotte — "Where  have  you  been ! 

Arthur — Up  the  country — would  want  a  map  of  the  country  to  tell 
you  where.  But  I  was  at  Sacramento  a  week. 

Charlotte — You  got  my  letters  then,  didn't  you.  I  directed  them  all 
to  Sacramento. 

Arthur — No ;  and  I  called  every  day  at  the  express  and  post  office — 
every  day  I  was  there  ;  and  I  was  there  all  of  last  week.  And  I  wrote 
you  every  day. 

Charlotte — Not  a  letter !     I  sent  my  letters  by  mail. 

Arthur — That's  strange.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  write  a  little  note 
to  the  newspapers  cursing  Postmaster  Perkins. 

Charlotte — I  wouldn't.     I  never  got  a  letter  from  you. 

Arthur — That's  very  strange. 

Charlotte — Ah,  no !  I  think  I  can  at  least  account  for  my  failure  to 
receive  your  letters,  without  attributing  any  blame  to  the  San  Francisco 
Postmaster  or  any  of  his  clerks.  [.*4sec?e.]  (Aha!  mother,  I  am  a  letter 
thief,  am  I  ?  New  letters  against  old,  then.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  get  a 
hate  for  my  mother.)  0,  Arthur,  sit  down.  0,  how  happy  I  am  to  see 
you !  [Putting  her  arms  around  Arthur,  and  sobbing,  her  head  on  his 
shoulder.'}  You  must  not  think  I  am  silly  because  I  cry. 

Arthur — I  guess  not.  I  'guess  not !  Don't  you  know — but  you  don't 
know — but  it's  a  fact  — Michelet  and  the  woman — I  forget  her  name — 
the  woman  who  wrote  a  book  against  Michelet's  theory  of  love,  and  Mrs. 
Farnham,  and  Swedenborg,  and  all  the  other  ancient  and  modern  writers 
on  love,  recommend  distinctly  that  a  man  do  not  believe  a  woman  loves 
him  except  she  cries  very  much,  once  in  a  while — every  few  days — in 
his  presence,  or  when  she  accidentally  meets  her  lovyer — cries  without 
any  sort  of  occasion,  or  reason  for  crying.  When  there  is  what  would 
naturally  be  supposed  to  be  an  occasion  for  crying,  she  must  not  cry, — 
that  is,  if  she  loves  you.  Then  she  mu=t  be  tearless,  and  very  hard  and 
flinty-looking ;  stone  countenance.  That's  a  scientific  statement,  Lotty, 
dear.  So,  cry  away.  [Kissing  her. 

Charlotte — Ah !  Arthur,  there  is  an  occasion  for  me  to  cry,  I  am  afraid. 

Arthur — What  is  it,  pray? 

Charlotte — Never  mind.  Tell  me  how  you  are  getting  along.  When 
will  you  be  mustered  in  ? 

Arthur — I  expect  to  be  mustered  in  sometime  this  week.  I  am  only 
waiting  for  the  captain  of  my  company  to  come  down  from  the  country, 
with  some  recruits  that  I  know  he  has  already  obtained.  By  the  way, 
did  you  know  I  had  been  promoted  ? 

Charlotte — "  Promoted  !" — before  you  are  mustered  in  ? 

Arthur — Yes;  I  have  got  a  commission  as  first  lieutenant.  I  have 
got  the  commission  in  my  pocket,  I  think.  [Searching  for  it.  Meanwhile 
MR.  BRYAN  enters — seeing  the  "  company,'1'1  hesitates  near  the  door  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  retires  unperceived.]  No,  I  have  left  it  at  the  house.  I'll 
bring  it  up  the  next  time.  I  came  particularly  to  ask  you  to  take  a  ride 
this  evening.  If  you  will  go,  I  will  come  up  with  the  buggy  in  twenty 
minutes. 


34  DEPRECIATION. 

Charlotte — 0,  I  shall  be  delighted !  [MRS.  BRYAN  passes  the  parlor 
door,  noticing,  with  evident  amazement  and  indignation,  the  "  company" — 
passing  by  unperceived'].  I'll  go  to  the  door  with  you,  and  let  you  out 
quietly,  so  that  the  folks  who  are  at  dinner  will  not  have  any  notice  that 
it  is  you.  I'll  tell  them  I  let  in  one  of  the  seamstresses;  I  don't  want 
them  to  know  you  came  here  just  now.  Then  you  can  drive  up,  and 
come  in  and  ask  me  to  ride,  as  if  you  hadn't  seen  me  before  for  an  age. 

Arthur — Why  so? 

Charlotte — No  matter  now ;  I  will  explain  it  all  to  you  when,  we  are 
out.  [Ex.  ARTHUK  and  CHARLOTTE. 

[Enter  MR.  BRYAN,  closely  followed  by  MRS.  BRYAN.] 

Mrs.  Bryan — And  you  allowed  them  to  sit  here  talking  together ;  and 
of  course  you  were  not  man  enough  to  improve  the  opportunity  to  give 
that  young  brass-buttons  a  substantial  hint  that  his  presence  here  wasn't 
desirable,  or  to  be  permitted  here  any  more ! 

Mr.  Bryan — How  did  you  know  he  was  here  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  looked  into  the  room  as  I  came  up ;  I  expected,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  to  see  you  here  with  Charlotte. 

Mr.  Bryan — Why  didn't  you  improve  the  opportunity  to  give  the 
young  man  the  hint  that  his  presence  here  was  no  longer  desirable  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — Mr.  Bryan,  you  have  sometimes  the  most  provoking  way 
of  answering  me  back  that  could  be  conceived  of. 

Mr.  Bryan — My  dear,  a  man  of  very  ordinary  wit  can  aptly  answer  a 
scold,  if  he  feels  disposed  to  do  so.  But  silence,  no  doubt,  is  silver.  I  could 
have  very  readily  entered  the  room  when  I  saw  Arthur  here,  if  the  pur- 
pose on  which  I  was  coming  had  not  made  me  choke  with  embarrass- 
ment and  shame.  Here  were  two  young  spring-birds,  billing  and  cooing ; 
I  could  not  drive  one  away,  and  ask  the  other  to  mate  with  an  old  turkey 
buzzard.  I  couldn't  do  it  right  at  that  moment,  and  under  the  circum- 
stances of  surprise,  my  dear. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Why,  you  are  getting  quite  dramatic  and  poetical,  ain't 
you,  now  ?  What  a  pity  you  were  not  a  son  of  Lord  Byron's,  your 
name  and  genius  are  so  much  like  his.  Mr.  Bryan,  do  you  intend  to 
fulfill  your  promise  to  me,  and  advise  Charlotte  as  I  told  you  to? 

Mr.  Bryan — As  far  as  you  have  any  promises  from  me,  I  intend  to 
fulfill. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Then  here  is  your  opportunity  without  excuse.  I  hear 
Charlotte  coming.  I  am  going  into  the  back  parlor.  [Exit  Mrs.  B. 

[Enter  CHARLOTTE.] 

Mr.  Bryan — [Drawing  his  daughter  to  his  side  on  the  sofa] — My  dear 
child,  who  was  that  that  was  here  a  few  minutes  ago  ? 

Charlotte — [Looking  intently  into  her  father's  face] — Father,  I  cannot 
deceive  you ;  it  was  Arthur. 

Mr.  Bryan — I  thought  so,  my  dear. 

Charlotte — Did  you  not  know  it  was? 

Mr.  Bryan — My  child,  I  cannot  deceive  you  about  that  at  least;  I  did. 
Charlotte,  are  you  engaged  to  Arthur  ? 

Charlotte — I  am,  father.     Is  he  not  a  good,  worthy  young  man? 


DRPRECIATION.  35 

Mr.  Bryan — He  is  a  bright  boy.  But  he  is  without  means ;  no  capi- 
tal ;  no  profession.  He  has  no  prospects  adequate  for  the  support  of  a 
house. 

Charlotte — Why,  [laughing,']  of  course  we  never  dreamed  of  being 
married  right  away ;  not  until  his  term  of  service  is  out.  Then  he  has 
the  promise  and  guarantee  of  a  situation  in  a  banking  house,  where  his 
salary  will  be  sufficient  to  maintain  us,  and  more,  in  very  good  style. 
0,  father,  I  often  thought — I  never  suggested  it  to  Arthur,  and  I  know 
he  never  thought  of  it,  for  he  loved  me  and  asked  me  to  marry  him  when 
we  were  poor,  when  most  people  thought  we  were  very  poor — but  I 
have  often  thought  that  you  could  and  would  set  him  up  in  business 
when  he  came  home  from  the  army.  You  know  •  he  understands  mer- 
chandizing very  well.  0,  father,  father,  don't  you  tell  me  I  mast  give 
up  Arthur  I  I  am  afraid  of  that.  [Sobbing  on  her  father's  breast. 

Mr.  Bryan — My  child,  you  know  your  father  loves  you;  I  only  seek 
your  good. 

Charlotte — I  know  you  do  really  seek  my  good. 

Mr.  Bryan — I  think  it  very  imprudent  in  you  to  be  engaged  to  Arthur 
tinder  the  present  circumstances.  It  is  not  right  that  a  boy  like  him 
should  bind  you  to  such  an  engagement.  You  are  quite  young  yet; 
Arthur  is  going  away,  to  be  gone  for  a  couple  of  years,  at  least ;  and  he 
should  leave  you  free,  and  you  should  feel  perfectly  free  to  make  your 
choice  elsewhere.  You  must  tell  him  so,  Lotty  dear.  [Kissing  her.] 
"Will  you  ?  For  you:  father's  sake,  who  loves  you,  Lotty,  and  who  ad- 
vises you  in  affection.  0,  you  know  not  how  much  I  love  you.  There 
is  something  like  a  sharp  instrument  that  goes  deeper  and  deeper  into 
my  heart  every  day,  and  it  leaves  a  seam  that  is  filled  with  larger  love 
for  my  children.  0,  my  God  1  is  it  so  ?  But  for  love  of  them,  I  should 
be  wounded  to  death. 

Charlotte — Father,  father,  I  understand  you.  Let  me  tell  Arthur  all 
you  say,  and  then  I  will  tell  him  firmly  and  positively  that  our  engage- 
ment is  broken  for  the  present.  But  I  want  him  to  understand  that  you 
are  not  the  one  who  breaks  it. 

Mr.  Bryan — But,  my  child,  I  am  the  one  that  asks  you  to  do  this.  I 
really  wish  you  to  break  this  engagement. 

Charlotte — Really,  Father?     Truly,  Father? 

Mr.  Bryan — Really — truly  I 

Charlotte— Well,  dear  father,— it  is  broken ! 

Mr.  Bryan — To-night? 

Charlotte — To-night.  Arthur  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes;  and  I 
will  dismiss  him.  I  was  going  out  to  ride  with  him ;  but  I  will  call  him 
in  here,  and  break  with  him  at  once, — give  him  back  this  ringl  I  feel 
it  must  be  done  at  once. 

Mr.  Bryan — Go  out  and  ride  with  him,  my  dear.  Tell  him  while  you 
are  riding ;  it  may  be  easier  for  you  to  do  it  then. 

Charlotte— [After  meditation]  I  believe  it  will  [Her  father  kisses  her 
upon  the  forehead.]  Father,  I  know  you  are  suffering!  I  love  you. 
There  is  nothing,  nothing,  father,  you  can  ask  of  me  that  I  will  not  do. 
Nothing  that  it  is  possible  for  me  to  do. 


36  DEPRECIATION". 

Mr.  Bryan — I  am  not  deserving  of  so  good  a  child  [Embraces  his 
daughter,  who  rises  then  and  retires.'] 

[After  a  short  interval  MRS.  BRYAN  enters.] 

Mrs.  Bryan — Have  you  done  as  you  agreed  ? 

Mr.  Bryan — Charlotte  has  promised  to  dismiss  Arthur,  and  to-night. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Has  she  promised  to  accept  Mr.  Cural  ? 

Mr.  Bryan — I  did  not  ask  her ;  and,  [rising  and  turning  sharply  upon 
his  wife]  so  help  me  God,  I  would  not  have  asked  her  such  a  thing,  and 
if  she  had  asked,  me  the  question  for  advice  for  herself,  I  would  have  an- 
swered her  "No!  "  And,  0,  it  tore  my  heart  to  ask  of  her  what  I  did; 
and  I  lied  1  curses  on  me,  I  lied ! 

Mrs.  Bryan — Mr.  Bryan,  you're  a  fool ! 

Mr.  Bryan — Thank  you,  Mrs.  Bryan.  Thank  you.  Clara,  Clara,  dar- 
ling. My  poor  Child!  Heaven  help  you  I  [Exit  MR.  BRYAN.] 

Mrs.  Bryan — The  fool  I     He'd  better  take  a  dose  of  medicine. 

[Exit  MRS.  BRYAN  at  one  door.    Enter  BRIDGET  BURNS  at  another  door.] 

Bridget — No  1  Divil  a  bit  of  a  fool  is  the  master.  And,  if  its  medicine 
he  wants,  sure,  and,  he  shouldn't  have  a  dose  of  those  old  letters  you 
palavered  him  with,  years  ago,  and  before  you  were  as  wise  as  you  are 
BOW.  Ah  1  And  it's  then  he  was  a  fool — and,  as  Patrick  says,  "  a  domned 
fool."  0,  but  he's  the  fond  father  I  And  she's  the  horrible  one — bad 
luck  to  the  heritic  praste  that  banned  her  to  so  good  a  man.  And  the 
childers  are  as  good  childers  as  ever  drew  breath  in  a  free  country,  where 
the  wages  are  rasonable — good,  sweet,  beautiful  bairns.  And  it's  the 
father  that  loves  them.  And  it's  the  mother  would  send  them  to  the 
divil  on  two  sticks,  hobbling  about  the  pavement.  The  likes  of  them  old 
rats,  spying  round  for  young  girls,  when  they  ought  to  be  engaging  ser- 
vice for  repose  of  their  dirty  souls.  Ha  1  Here's  the  old  woman  coming 
back  again.  She's  up  stairs  and  down  stairs,  like  the  witch's  broom 
handle.  [Exit  BRIDGET.] 

[Enter  MRS.  BRYAN,  soon  followed  by  CHARLOTTE,  dressed  for  a  ride.] 

Mrs.  Bryan — Why,  Charlotte,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "Why  are 
you  dressed  for  going  out  ?  Don't  you  intend  to  keep  your  promise  to 
your  father  ? 

Charlotte — I  promised  father  to  break  with  Arthur  to-night.  Arthur 
was  coming  to  take  me  out  to  ride.  Father  said  I  had  better  ride  out 
with  Arthur,  and  tell  him  while  we  were  riding. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Pshaw!  Nonsense  1  Stay  in.  Tell  him  here.  I  would 
not  have  you  seen  riding  out  with  him.  Stay  here,  and  tell  him  here, 
when  he  comes. 

Charlotte — I  will,  Mother.     I  expect  it  is  as  well. 

Mrs.  Bryan — It  is  better  for  you  to  tell  him  here.  Break  off  this 
school-girl  folly,  in  your  own  doors  I  [Exit] 

[CHARLOTTE  sits  on  sofa.    Door  bell  rings.] 

Charlotte — [starting  up.]  Ah  1  How  very  quick  he  is.  I  have  a 
good  mind  to  go  out  with  him,  and  marry  him  to-night.  No,  I  will  keep 
my  word  to  my  father,  though  every  farewell  word  to  Arthur  came  to 


DEPRECIATION.  3*7 

lips  like  coals  of  fire.     0 !  Sordid  world  of  San  Francisco,  are  there  no 
love-tragedies  within  your  walls  ?     !N  one !  None  ! 
[Enter  ARTHUR.] 

Arthur — Come !  I  have  a  splendid  turn-out ;  and  there's  a  full  moon 
to-night;  and  we  can  ride  until  9  or  10.  Cornel 

Charlotte — Arthur,  sit  down  a  moment!  [Arthur  takes  a  seat,  with 
manner  indicative  of  surprise.]  Arthur,  I  am  not  going  out  to  ride  with 
you  to-night.  I  dressed  myself  to  go  out,  as  you  see.  I  was  going  to 
ride  out  with  you  and  tell  you  something,  something  very  important. 
But,  Mother  thought  I  had  best  tell  you  here;  and  there  is  no  starting  to 
ride  after  it  is  told.  Arthur! — [Arthur  rises  with  evident  apprehension,'] 
Arthur !  we  went  to  school  together.  We  have  known  each  other  from, 
childhood.  We  are  only  big  children  now,  though  I  have  left  school  and 
you  wear  the  uniform  of  an  army  officer.  Well — well — Arthur — 

[choking  for  utterance.'] 

Arthur—Well  I     What  ?     What  is  it,  Lotty  ? 

Charlotte — Arthur,  you  are  about  going  away  with  your  Company  ? 

Arthur — I  am. 

Charlotte — Arthur,  when  you  go  away  you  must  leave  me  free  ;  leave 
me  without  any  engagement,  as  I  now — I  now,  release  all  vows  to  you. 
I  have  promised  to  give  this  to  you,  and  require  this  of  you.  I  know 
you  will  grant  what  I  ask.  Arthur,  dear,  I  give  you  back  your  promise. 
I  will  send  you  all  your  presents  to-morrow,  and  you  may  send  me  the 
pictures  you  have  of  me. 
t  Arthur — [whirling  around.]  Tou  are  not  joking? 

Charlotte— No. 

Arthur — I  thought  not.  I  had  a  kind  of  prescience  of  this.  And, 
how  pleasant  you  were  only  a  few  minutes  ago. 

Charlotte — It  is  only  withiu  a  few  minute?,  and  since  you  left  here, 
that  I  have  been  told  to  say  this  to  you.  But  I  have  had  a  fear — 0,  so 
long — that  at  last  I  should  have  to  tell  you  this. 

Arthur — I  know  how  it  is.  I  understand  it  all.  [walking  excitedly.] 
That  old  Cural,  that  lovely  old  imp  of  Front  street,  has  been  prowling 
about  the  premises  ever  since  your  father  came  to  riches.  And  he  knew 
about  that  as  soon  as  your  father  did.  I  know  exactly  how  it  is,  and 
how  it  will  be.  Charlotte,  your  parents  want  you  to  marry  old  Cural. 
And  you'll  do  it! 

Charlotte — Never,  Arthur. 

Arthur — Yes,  you  will.  You  will  do  as  Ellen  Cranmerton  aud  Ellen 
Dillaner  and  twenty  others  I  could  name — old  schoolmates  of  yours — 
have  done  within  the  past  year.  You  will  marry  a  withered  old  man, 
who  has  gold,  gold,  and  who  you  think  will  give  you  a  heavy  purse 
every  day.  But  you're  mistaken  there.  I  had  fear  I  should  lose  you  ; 
but  I  drove  it  away,  because  it  came  up  in  this  form,  and  I  could  not  be- 
lieve you  would  follow  that  suit. 

Charlotte — Nor  will  I.  Listen  to  me,  Arthur.  We  have  vows  given 
to  each  other.  Those  who  have  some  right  to  direct  me  at  my  age,  in 
this  matter  of  fixed  choice  for  life,  whom  I  ought  not  now  directly  to 
disobey,  so  long  as  they  do  not  try  to  force  me  to  wed  the  man  I  would 
not,  they  tell  me  to  give  you  back  your  promise,  and  ask  you  to  disen- 
4 


38  DEPRECIATION. 

gage  me.  So  far  I  yield  to  their  judgment  and  command.  But  here  I 
make  no  vow,  but  an  oath,  before  you  and  high  heaven,  that  I  will  not 
marry  Cural,  nor  such  a  man  as  he — no,  though  he  have  a  ton  of  gold 
for  his  suit,  and  death  were  the  penalty  of  refusal.  I  make  you  my  wit- 
ness here  to  that  resolution,  and  in  your  hands  will  leave  the  right  of 
absolving  me  from  it.  Be  assured  and  certain  that  you  were  wrong  in 
allowing  yourself  to  suspect  for  a  moment  that  my  cause  for  breaking 
with  you  had  any  thought  of  such  a  marriage. 

Arthur — Not  your  intention  now,  probably.  But  it  is  for  the  reason 
that  Cural  wants  you  that  your  father  and  mother  urge  you  to  break  off 
with  me.  Bye  and  by,  (not  now),  they  expect  you  to  become  entirely 
reconciled  to  their  will  and  pleasure,  and  marry  this  old  fellow. 

Charlotte — I  have  given  my  oath.  And  my  father  does  not  encourage 
snch  a  proposition.  No,  he  neither  expects  nor  wishes  it.  I  believe  he 
would  not  permit  it,  if  he  could  prevent  it,  even  if  I  voluntarily  sought  it. 

Arthur — Then  it  is  your  mother. 

Charlotte — Arthur,  I  have  no  right  to  speak  ill  or  harshly  of  my 
mother.  Then  you  have  no  right  to  do  such  a  thing  in  my  presence. 

Arthur — 0,  Cuarlotte  Bryan,  do  you  know  what  you  are  saying? 

[Bursting  into  tears,  seating  himself,  and  sobbing. 

Charlotte — Arthur,  do  you  recollect  that  Michelet,  or  "  that  woman 
who  answered  him" — for  I  have  read  them  both  since  you  first  told  rne 
you  had  read  them — says  that  when  a  man  cries  heartily  on  being  disap- 
pointed in  love,  his  sorrow  will  be  very  easily  cured  by  absence? 

Arthur — 0,  curses  on  Michelet,  or  the  woman  that  was  fool  enough  to 
answer  him !  "Why,  Charlotte,  [rising  and  turning  upon  her,]  Charlotte, 
I  thought  you  really  loved  me.  I  thought  you  a  warm  hearted,  but 
string-willed  girl. 

Charlotte — God  knows  I  am  strong  willed. 

Arthur — I  thought  you  loved  me  deeply.  I  really  had,  as  I  find  now, 
no  idea  that  with  the  freedom  of  such  a  community  as  this,  you  would 
throw  off  your  accepted  lover  without  a  good  moral  reason.  Now,  I 
begin  to  see  exactly  how  it  is.  You  never  loved  me.  You  may  not  in- 
tend to  marry  Cural,  but  you  at  least  want  to  be  free  of  choice  during 
my  absence,  so  it  some  one  better  suited  to  your  fancy  (for  your  are 
heartless)  should  ask  your  hand,  you  can  accept.  You  think  it  quite 
probable  you  may  meet  with  some  one  you  could  love  better,  so  you  im- 
prove this  very  good  opportunity  to  cast  me  off. 

Charlotte — You  do  not  reason  very  well,  in  your  bitterness.  If  I  were 
capable  of  this  which  you  put  down  to  me,  in  this  or  any  other  commu- 
nity the  bond  of  promise  between  you  and  me  would  have  been  of  light 
account  in  any  event.  But  I  did  not  so  esteem  them.  I  not  love  you, 
Arthur  1  0,  that  is  a  great  wrong  to  say  so.  But  I  must  be  free,  for  I 
have  promised  it  to  one  who  asked  me  in  suffering — who'll  have  quiet 
and  peace  by  it,  for  a  little  season  at  least.  I  not  love  you  1  Arthnr 
Hassard,  now  that  we  part  as  friends  merely,  I  feel  that  I  can  and  should 
tell  you  what  I  never  expected  you  to  hear  from  me.  I  have  loved  you 
from  the  first  consciousness  of  womanhood;  the  first  realizing  sense  of 
love  in  my  heart  distinctly  pictured  you  as  the  object,  or  as  a  very  part 
of  the  controlling  emotion ;  and  I  have  nurtured  that  love  on  a  sure 


DEPRECIATION.  39 

knowledge  of  noble  deeds  and  manly  endurance  and  true  ambition. 
While  your  mother  and  sister  were  living  at  the  East  you  labored  here, 
almost  alone  in  this  new  country,  to  support  them  and  to  give  that  sister 
means  for  a  liberal  education.  You  bent  your  energies  to  a  pursuit  and 
to  daily  tasks  that  did  not  require  for  their  following  the  talent  you  pos- 
sessed; in  which  you  could  not  have  intervals  for  study  to  fit  you  for 
the  higher  walks  which  you  were  worthy  to  tread,  and  toward  which 
you  must  have  been  consciously  ambitious.  I  saw  you  when  the  intelli- 
gence came  of  the  death  of  that  mother  and  sister,  by  a  dreadful  acci- 
dent. I  knew  that  your  anguish  was  terrible ;  but  you  made  no  great 
demonstration  of  it  that  could  indicate  the  depth  of  your  grief  to  other 
eyes  than  mine.  You  did  not  sit  down  sulkily  and  grieve.  0,  Ar- 
thur, more  than  all,  how  I  loved  you  for  the  sacrifice  you  then  made 
and  the  affections  and  aspirations  you  tht-n  exhibited.  I  knew  it  was  a 
sacrifice  that  difference  in  money  did  not  tell.  You  relinquished  a  posi- 
tion where  you  were  earning  and  receiving  $200  a  month  from  a  partial 
employer,  to  enter  the  service  of  your  government,  in  the  army  on 
this  coast,  which  was  then  sadly  in  need  of  men  ;  and  you  first  took  and 
were  content  to  remain  with  a  soldier's  pay.  I  knew  that  when  you 
were  commissioned  a  lieutenant,  you  took  all  the  savings  you  had  accu- 
mulated for  the  bringing  out  of  your  mother  and  sister  and  the  purchas- 
ng  of  a  little  homestead  for  them,  and  expended  it  in  the  recruiting  -serv- 
ice of  your  government  and  country.  And  you  have  expended  all  that 
sum  and  nearly  a  year  of  labor  in  this  service.  If  an  American  girl  would 
not  love  (0,  no  less  a  word  than  love!)  the  handsome  young  man  who  would 
do  this  for  his  country,  under  such  circumstances,  on  this  distant  coast,  she 
would  not  only  be  disloyal,  she  would  be  utterly  without  sense  of  appre- 
ciation of  what  is  most  noble  and  glorious  in  man.  Arthur,  T  am  not 
worthy  of  you.  Bel;eving  in  your  heart  that,  after  all,  I  suffered  most, 
you  could  bear  and  determine  to  leave  me  with  light  words  upon  your 
lips,  with  affected  apprehension  that  I  would  wed  one  destitute  of  any 
claim  to  the  hand  of  youth  in  marriage.  0,  don't  reproach  me,  and 
don't  think  too  well  of  me.  I  cannot  say,  forget  me !  You  will  not 
forget  me.  I  shall  never  forget  you,  Arthur ;  never  cease  to  love  you — 
never  1 

Arthur — Dear,  noble  girl!  [embracing  her]  and  yet  I  ought  not  to 
accept  such  a  eulogy,  though  it  be  made  of  parting  words.  You  must 
be  right  in  believing  that  it  is  best  for  you  to  obey  your  parents'  wish, 
best  for  our  engagement  to  be  broken.  I  absolve  you  from  your  vow 
absolutely,  cheerfully,  cheerfully  if  not  willingly;  for  you  require  it — will 
not  even  say  that  I  shall  hold  in  my  heart  any  hope  of  a  new  promise 
and  its  fulfi  Iment,  in  time  to  come.  Farewell,  Lotty  dear.  When  I  am 
away  I  shall  have  a  secret  talisman  in  my  heart,  though  your  promise 
be  gone.  No  one  will  dream  of  it,  but  you  and  I  God  bless  you ! 
Fare -.veil!  Farewell!  [Kisses  he%.]  Speak  my  name  once  more,  Lotty  I 

Charlotte — Arthur! 

Arthur — Farewell !  farewell,  Lotty ! 

[Embracing  her.    Exit  ARTHUR. 

[CHARLOTTE  stands  for  a  moment,  sobbing — looks  up  mournfully  and 
despairingly ;  then  moves  toioard  the  door.  Approaching  step  is  heard. 
CHARLOTTE  turns  from  the  door.] 


40  DEPRECIATION. 

Charlotte — Hark !  I  think  that  is  the  footstep  of  that  hateful  man.  I 
did  not  hear  the  bell.  But  it  is  his  footstep.  My  God !  Spare  me  the 
sight  of  him,  now ! 

[Enter  MR.  BRYAN.    Pauses  a  moment."] 

Mr.  Bryan — Charlotte! 

Charlotte — [Turns  and  falls  into  Ms  arms,  exclaiming :  ]  Father ! 

Mr.  Brgan — My  child!     [Tenderly  embraces  her.] 


ACT     IV. 

[Six  months'  interval  of  time  between  3d  and  4th  Acts.] 

SCENE  I. — PARLOR  in  the  house  of  the  BRYANS. 

[Enter  HENRY.] 

Henry — -"Well,  here  I  am,  delegated  by  circumstances  and  their  crea- 
ture, wbo  is  my  unfortunate  younger  frater,  to  inform  the  female  portion 
of  this  wealthy  and  aristocratic  house — of  six  months'  standing — of  cer- 
tain unpleasant  facts,  which  sum  up  as  follows:  Assets,  nothing  ;  and 
the  good  habit  of  ''pay  as  you  go,"  (according  to  my  advice)  resulting 
in,  Debts,  nothing.  A  square  stand-off  for  a  get-off.  Now,  although 
this  seems  on  the  outside  to  be  a  disagreeable  task,  I  rather  like  it,  and 
I  have  thought  over  it  for  a  whole  night.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  reliev- 
ing Alfred  of  the  secret  of  his  downfall,  which  he  could  not  himself  an- 
nounce or  confess  until  it  was  proved  by  common  report,  so  miserably 
sensitive  is  he  to  the  conjugal  upbraidings  of  Mrs.  B. ;  Secondly,  it  is 
taking  the  ruffles  and  flounces  and  braid  from  Mrs.  Bryan's  dresses;  and 
I  owe  her  several,  which  this  will  liquidate.  I  am  very  thankful  that  I 
was  born  with  a  malevolent  disposition.  Thirdly,  this  furnishes  an  un- 
get-roundable  reason — one  which  must  be  practically  conclusive — why 
Charlotte  should  not  be  forced  to  marry  old  Cural,  and  for  the  whole 
family's  sake  levy  on  his  cursed  old  money  bags,  if  he  has  any.  Yes, 
yes,  altogether  this  is  a  very  pleasant  and  congenial  duty,  which,  under 
the  special  administration  of  Providence,  has  been  consigned  to  me. 
And  then,  too,  after  waiting  a  few  hours  for  the  force  of  natural  lamen- 
tations to  expend  itself, — then  to  open  up  a  way  to  escape  from  what 
Mrs.  B.  will  consider  horrible  shame,  on  conditions  tyrannically  my 
own;  conditions, which  will  secure  my  brother's  and  my  niece's  peace, 
and  enable  me  to  hold  my  own.  For  I  can't  lecture  where  I  have  com- 
mand; and  that  is  precisely  where  Mrs.  B.  and  myself  differ.  Halloo! 
Now  for  it !  Here  comes  the  Madam. 

[Enter  MRS.  BRYAN.] 

Mrs.  Bryan — Why,  Henry,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  this  morning.  Alfred 
said  you  wanted  to  speak  to  me,  and  I  was  going  down  to  the  office 
this  noon  so  that  I  might  catch  you  there  and  get  your  word.  Alfred 
seemed  so  nervous  when  he  told  me  that  you  wanted  to  speak  to  me, 


DEPRECIATIO 


that  I  have  had  considerable  uneasiness  in  anticipation  of  it.  And  what 
ha«  kept  you  away  from  the  city  so  long? 

Henry — That's  right.  He  ought  to  have  set  you  on  pins  by  his  man- 
ner. I  venture  to  say  that  he  is  slightly  afraid  of  you.  That,  I  think, 
is  fchown  in  the  fact  that  you  and  he  are  not,  strictly,  confidants.  It 
would  do  very  well  for  him  to  tell  you  that  he  had  grown  rich,  all  of  a 
sudden — though  I  contended  that  that  communication  was  a  great  mis- 
take: but  he  daresn't  tell  you  he  had  failed! 

Mrs.  Bryan — What!  Henry! 

Henry — NoJ  He  was  afraid  to  tell  you  that  he  was  a  poor  man 
again — almost  as  poor  as  when  you  married  him  twenty  years  ago  in  our 
pleasant  little  village  in  New  York  State.  _  He  hired  me  to  tell  you  this, 
and  all  about  it — as  much  as  you  were  curious  to  know.  He  paid  me 
in  advance.  I  wouldn't  undertake  it  without  payment  in  advance,  and 
an  additional  insurance  of  a  thousand  dollars  on  my  life-premium. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Alfred  is  broke  ? 

Henry — Verily.  Alfred,  your  lawful  husband,  Alfred  Bryan,  the 
broker — he,  he  has  broke.  He  is  not  worth  a  red  riffle. 

Mrs.  Bryan. — How  do  you  know  this? 

Henry — Among  other  evidences,  I  have  his  word  for  it — the  word  of 
an  honest  man,  'though  he  has  been  a  broker:  the  word  of  a  sad,  up- 
right man,  'though  he  is  your  husband. 

Mrs.  Bryan — [After  a  pame.]  Well,  Charlotte  had  a  dream.  She 
dreamed  it  would  be  so,  night  before  last.  Ah  I  when  she  told  me  of  it 
I  laughed  and  said  dreams  went  by  contraries. 

Henry — That's  superstition.  The  natural  interpretation,  the  rational 
interpretation  is  straight  forward.  No  wonder  poor  Charlotte  dreamed 
of  it;  she  has  sense — she  saw  the  extravagance  and  foolish  display  of 
the  house;  and  she  wanted  to  be  poor,  no  doubt  she  prayed  to  be  poor, 
in  order  to  get  rid  of  that  cursed  Cural. 

Mrs.  Bryan — [^sicfe.]  (Oh !  that,  now,  is  our  only  reliance.)  Is  it 
generally  known  that  Alfred  has  failed? 

Henry — No,  Madam  Bryan,  it  is  not. 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  have  fixed  the  wedding  day  for  next  Monday.  We 
must  keep  this  concealed  until  then.  Mr.  Cural  has  promised  to  settle 
on  Charlotte  regular  money  enough  to  keep  up  this  house  three  times 
over,  and  once  married  to  Charlotte,  outside  of  the  legal  settlement,  I 
can  take  care  that  he  expresses  due  gratitude  to  me  by  his  expenses. 

Henry — What!  In  Heaven's  name,  you  would  not  live  on  him? 
[Aside.']  (This  puts  my  plan  out  of  joint.) 

Mrs.  Bryan— -Well,  he  can  take  and  keep  up  this  house,  and  our  family 
can  go  back  to  nearly  the  old  style  without  any  one's  noticing  it. 

Henry — Mrs.  Bryan,  I  have  this  news  to  tell  you,  and  I  have  some 
things  to  say  specially  to  you  of  my  own  judgment,  necessary  for  you 
to  hear  and  act  consistently  with.  You  must  realize  that  your  hus- 
band's loss  of  fortune  is  entire  and  absolute,  and  this  fact  must  be  matter 
of  street  notoriety  in  less  than  three  days  from  this  date  in  Christendom. 
Nothing  can  prevent  that.  Make  up  your  mind  and  make  your  bets 
accordingly.  This  house  must  be  given  up.  You  can't  keep  it  under 
any  contrivance.  Old  Cural,  even  if  he  should  be  disposed  (as  he  won't 

4* 


42  DEPRECIATION. 

be)  to  abide  by  the  matrimonial  arrangement  made  for  your  daughter  in 
the  hour  of  your  great  prosperity,  will  not  keep  it;  for  he  has  already 
engaged,  in  writing,  another  house,  less  costly  than  this,  contingent  on 
his  marrying  within  a  month.  The  probabilities  of  course  are,. however, 
that  he  will  throw  up  the  agreement  on  learning  of  Alfred's  financial 
crash.  And  if  I  were  in  your  place,  I  would  take  a  smart  advantage  of 
him  by  being  first  to  suggest  the  break.  Worldly  pride,  even,  which 
should  stand  you  in  some  service  now,  and  truth  and  decency,  which 
always  argued  against  this  unwholesome  match,  agree  in  recommending 
this  action.  Mrs.  Bryan,  Clara,  if  you  will  only  adopt  this  course  in 
regard  to  this  matter,  it  will  evince  a  returning  or  born  good  sense  that 
will  insure  your  happiness  and  comfort  hereafter.  I  know  that. 

Mrs.  Bryan— [Sobbing.]  0,  dear !  I  think  Alfred  should  have  told  me 
about  this. 

Henry— So  do  I.  But  he  disliked  to  do  it.  He  asked  me  to  do  it. 
He  begged  me  to  do  it.  I  have  done  it  thoroughly,  and  with  a  great 
deal  of — satisfaction. 

Mrs.  Bryan — You  are  a  wretch  1  I  don't  expect  anybody  will  gloat 
over  our  misfortunes  half  as  much  as  you  will. 

Henry — Nor  I,  either.  I  tell  you  it  has  afforded  me  a  great  deal  of 
pleasure.  The  "bust"  has  come  just  at  the  right  time,  and  it  has  been 
perfect.  Owing  to  my  persistent  advice — and  sometimes  my  actual  in- 
terference— you  have  kept  your  bills  paid  up  from  month  to  month. 
There  is  a  moral  satisfaction  in  that,  which  only  Alfred  and  myself  ap- 
preciate I  But  you  were  giving  strong  symptoms  of  a  desire  and  inten- 
tion to  spend  far  beyond  even  the  great  income  that  you  had.  Had 
your  fall  been  delayed  a  year,  you  would  have  had  a  magnificent  ruin, 
involving  hundreds  of  innocent  parties  in  distress  and  penury.  As  it  is, 
I  congratulate  you,  the  "bust"  is  in  good  time  to  let  you  out  with  every 
debt  paid,  and,  perhaps,  enough  honestly  saved  to  purchase  you  a  very 
comfortable  little  homestead,  and  that's  all.  I  don't  think  I  ever  knew 
so  opportune  an  occurrence,  of  its  kiod. 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  am  almost  inclined  to  disbelieve  what  you  say. 

Henry — You  would  disbelieve  it  if  you  could ;  but  you  know  even  I 
could  not  be  guilty  of  a  practical  joke  on  such  a  matter.  I  promised 
Alfred  the  information  should  be  imparted  in  due,  formal  style,  consist- 
ent with  the  magnificence  of  the  losses,  and  in  a  consoling  manner,  such 
as  I  have  adopted ;  and  having  duly  informed  you,  I  can  tell  the  rest  of 
the  family,  if  you  desire  me  to  do  it. 

*  Mrs.  Bryan — 0,  by  all  means;  make  yourself  generally  useful  in 
posting  the  girls  in  the  kitchen.  I  authorize  you  to  give  them  all  notice 
to  quit  next  week,  which  is  at  the  end  of  their  mouth. 

Henry — Then  you  will  tell  Charlotte  and  Laura  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — No,  I  will  not. 

Henry — I  must  be  asked  by  you  to  tell  them,  or  I  shall  Cleave  their 
"posting"  to  you,  or  the  hearing  of  street  gossip. 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  beg  you  to  tell  them,  and  at  once.  Here  comes  Laura 
now.  I  will  go.  [Exit. 

[Enter  LAURA.] 

Henry — Laura,  your  school  examinations  close  this  month,  don't  they? 


DEPRECIATION.  43 

Laura — Ye?,  uncle. 

Henry-xrThen  you  will  be  ready  to  go  into  the  business  of  teaching 
yourself,  1 1  am  acquainted  with  three  of  the  members  of  the  Board  of 
Education,  and  I  will  open  on  your  succession  to  the  first  vacancy.  I 
will  bring  you  home  to-night  the  Declaration  of  Dependence,  which  they 
require  to  be  signed  by  the  female  teachers.  You  can  look  over  it,  and 
prepare  your  conscience  accordingly. 

Laura — Why,  uncle,  what  do  you  mean?  I  am  not  going  to  teach 
school.  I  have  no  idea  of  it. 

Henry — That  is  just  the  idea  you  must  get ;  the  best  thing  you  can 
think  of.  Your  father  has  fallen  from  wealth.  He's  poor,  Laura ;  poor 
as  a  church  that  don't  get  up  a  lottery  or  a  fandango  once  a  month. 

Laura — Papa  broke  !  [Dropping  her  pile  of  scftoolbooks. 

Henry — Stocks  have  gone  down  and  your  father  has  gone  up.  See- 
saw! That's  the  way  of  this  little  world,  Laura. 

Laura — I  will  sit  right  down,  and  have  a  good  cry. 

Henry — Do,  Laura ;  that's  sensible. 

Laura — I  was  going  to  ask  mamma  and  papa  to  go  out  next  Saturday 
and  look  at  "  Kisling  Place."  I  was  in  hopes  pa  might  buy  it.  You 
know  it's  for  sale  ;  and  it's  such  a  beautiful  place  : — gold  fish  ponds  with 
seats  around  them,  fountains,  canaries,  monkeys,  black  swans,  ostriches, 
and  peacocks,  and  flowers  until  you  can't  rest.  0,  dear  1 

[Sitting  down  and  crying, 

Henry — A  delightful  place,  I  know.  Magnificent  prospect  1  It's 
boarded  high,  like  a  harem  or  nunnery;  but  when  you  climb  on  the  top 
of  the  bird-roost  or  pump,  you  have  gorgeous  surroundings.  Frog-lakes 
to  the  front  of  you,  frog-lakes  to  the  left  of  you,  with  a  fort  for  a  jump- 
ing off  place  from  the  cars  in  the  near  distance ;  grand  blanket  factory, 
exuberant  of  smoke,  ditto ;  and  from  the  glorious  old  ocean  rolls  in  an. 
occasional  eastern  sea  breeze,  exquisitely  perfumed  by  the  beef-bazaars 
on  Brannan  street.  And  so  cheap!  Only  $150,000  for  the  whole  con- 
cern. The  lone  ostrich,  that  you  see  twice  and  call  a  pair,  cost  a  thous- 
and, and  the  golden-headed  pheasant  is  worth  its  weight  in  gold.  It  is 
dreadful  to  contemplate  what  a  purchase  your  poor  father  is  put  out  of. 
Too  bad ! 

Laura — Uncle  Henry,  you're  mocking  me ;  and  I  don't  think  it  right. 

Henry — Not  a  bit  of  it,  sweet  Laura.  I  am  only  expatiating  on  the 
mournfulness  of  the  loss,  taking  your  own  particular  ideas  and  plans  of 
happiness  into  consideration. 

Laura — 0,  dear!  dear!  what  will  poor  mamma  say? 

Henry — She's  had  her  say  ;  that  is,  her  first  say.     I  have  told  her. 

Laura — Did  she  cry  ?  [Looking  up  from  her  sobbing. 

Henry — Well,  I  didn't  exactly  see  it.     I  couldn't  say  positively. 

Laura — She  ought  to  cry.  If  she  didn't  cry  hard,  I  won't  cry  at  all. 
I  will  go  right  up  to  her  room.  [Rising  and  exit. 

Henry — That's  a  sensible  girl.  Why  should  she  snivel  if  her  mother 
don't?  But  the  worst  task  of  revelation  is  to  come.  Poor  Charlotte! 
Though  I  think  and  know  it  will  all  result  for  her  peace  and  good,  and 
though  I  believe  she  will  soon  see  it  in  that  light,  and  has  often  hoped 
vaguely  for  some  such  stroke,  she  naturally  will  have  more  reason  than 


44  DEPRECIATION. 

any  of  the  rest  to  feel  chagrined.  Every  circumstance  connected  with 
her  life  since  this  dreadful  rise  in  the  family  has  been  of  a  character  to 
aggravate  her  suffering  on  learning  of  this  downfall  in  her  father's  for- 
tunes. She  has  been  petted  by  her  mother  as  a  mode  of  coaxing  her 
into  obedience  to  her  will.  Yes,  "petted"  is  the  only  word;  for  the  girl 
has  become  peevish,  and  the  mother's  treatment  has  not  been  that  of 
wise  and  clear  affection  and  sympathy  Her  true  and  noble  lover  has 
been  cast  off  at  her  father's  forced  request,  and  I  expect,  so  far  as  the 
young  man  knows,  with  her  willing  consent ;  and  she  has  been  currently 
announced,  without  challenge  from  her,  as  the  future  wife  of  a  venerable 
scrip-book  and  money-bag ;  and  after  this  is  sure  to  follow  his  ostenta- 
tious or  contemptuous  rejection  of  her.  That's  an  immortal  sweet  in  the 
gall,  at  all  events;  sugar  in  the  wormwood.  What  an  outrage  is  almost 
weekly  perpetrated  in  this  city  !  For  one  conscience-flattering  reason  or 
another,  innocent  spring-time  is  married  to  debauched  winter.  Devilish  1 
Thank  God!  one  brand  is  snatched  from  the  buruiug  by  this  clutch  of 
gold  from  this  house. 

[Enter  JANE  ] 

Jane. — Where's  Mrs.  Bryan,  I  wonder?  Mr.  Cural  is  in  the  other 
parlor.  But,  I  suppose  he  is  waiting  for  Charlotte  to  come  in.  1  told 
him  she  was  out  when  I  went  to  the  door;  but  he  said  he  would  come 
in  and  wait  for  her. 

Henry — You  need  not  apologise  to  me  for  letting  the  man  in.  Ask  him 
to  come  in  here  and  wait.  [Exit  Jane.]  Lucky;  as  Mantalini  would 
say,  "  Demned  Lucky."  The  very  man  of  men  for  me  to  see,  right  now, 
and  right  here.  It  will  be  an  act  of  humanity  in  the  gross,  to  push  him 
out  with  this  intelligence  before  he  sees  Charlotte  again.  It  may  be  she 
has  heard  of  the  matter  while  she  is  out,  to-day.  If  that  should  be  so, 
as  is  likely,  her  meeting  with  him  here  would  be  painful  in  the  extreme, 
whether  he  had  really  heard  of  it  or  not.  But,  I  don't  know.  A  girl 
of  nineteen,  that  can  support  the  idea — as  I  think  she  now  does — of  mar- 
ry ng  ;md  living  with  a  man  of  his  age  and  beauty,  must  have  a  cultivated 
courage  that  will  do  for  all  sorts  of  sudden  turns  in  human  affairs.  Ah ! 
here  comes  the  old  chap.  Now  for  a  dose  of  saltpetre  before  the  parson's 
benediction  can  possibly  come  in. 

[Enter  MR.  CURAL  ] 

Cural — Why,  Mr.  Bryan,*Mr.  Henry  Byran,  you  here?  Ah!  [draw- 
ing up  chair  and  seating  himself.']  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  and  have 
an  opportunity  of  talking  with  you.  The  fact  is,  I  have  wanted  to  talk 
with  you  for  some  time  past ;  but  you  seemed  to  be  a  little  distant,  and 
I  did  not  press  your  acquaintance.  Now,  that  it  is  generally  known  that 
I  am  to  marry  your  neice,  I  am  determined  to  cultivate  you.  I  suspect, 
really  I  have  suspected,  my  dear  sir,  that  you  have  entertained  half  a 
prejudice  against  me?  Ha? 

Henry — There  you  are  mistaken  by  half,  Mr.  Cural.  [Jswfe] — (If  my 
antipathy  has  riot  been  a  whole  one,  then  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a 
sound  integer.)  I  am  glad  to  meet  you  here,  and  just  now,  Mr.  Cural. 
I  was  saying  that  to  myself  as  you  came  in.  Before  it  becomes  a  matter 
of  general  notoriety,  I  wish  to  apprise  you  particularly  of  certain  facts, 


DEPRECIATION.  45 

or  of  a  certain  fact  that  will,  I  imagine,  largely  contribute  to  your  stock 
of  information  affecting  your  prospects  or  proposals  for  the  future.  Do 
you  know  that  my  brother,  Alfred  Bryan,  is  a  ruined  man — financially 
played  out? 

Cured — [rising.']     I  did  not.     Do  you  ? 

Henry — I  do.     I  know  it  positively.     It  is  an  entire,   absolute  failure. 

Cural — How  did  you  know  it  first?  Before  it  was  generally  suspected, 
even? 

Henry — Naturally.  As  his  brother ;  and  myself  slightly  and  soonest 
cramped  by  his  downfall. 

Cural — I  can't  believe  it. 

Henry — You  may  rely  upon  it. 

Gural — How  much  loss? 

Henry — A  hundred  thousand.  But  almost  'entirely,  if  not  entirely  a 
personal  loss.  No  involvements,  I  think,  outside  of  a  trifle  of  my  own. 

Cural — And  what  is  the  cause,  then  ? 

Henry — Depreciation,  sir!  Depreciation  I  Depreciation  I 
£.  Cural— The  devil !     How  long  since  you  knew  this  ? 

Henry — May  be  a  fortnight. 

Cural — I  can't  believe  it. 

Henry — You  ought,  for  it  is  the  simple  truth. 

Cural — Badl  Bad!  Bad!  ain't  it? 

Henry — Decidedly  "  bad,"  I  should  say. 

Cural — It  is  hard  to  believe  that  he  should  have  lost  all,  and  so  much  I 
And  no  one  involved  ?  That's  almost  incredible,  on  the  face  of  it.  He 
has  not  been  an  extravagant  man.  It  is  hard  to  believe.  And  no  one 
involved !  Incredible  I  Impossible,  almost ! 

Henry — The  same  thing  is  occurring  almost  weekly,  now-a-days ; — 
without  the  item  of  its  being  nearly  all  personal  loss. 

Cural — Yes,  sir ;  that's  a  strange  feature.  [Reseating  himself. 

Henry — There  is  nothing  strange  in  the  fact  of  its  not  being  generally 
known  before  this  date.  The  loss  being  personal  could  not  be  reckoned 
from  the  outside;  and  there  were  no  special  interests  to  call  attention  to 
any  attempted  reckoning  in  that  direction. 

Cural — That's  so ;  that's  so, — so  far  as  that  goes.  If  it  be,  as  you 
say,  a  personal  loss. 

Henry — You  have  yourself,  Mr.  Cural,  alluded  to  my  relationship  to 
this  family,  and  your  proposed  marriage  with  Charlotte  Bryan.  Hadn't 
we  two  better  come  square  down  to  a  consideration  of  that  matter  matri- 
monial, now  ?  My  relationship  indicates  my  right,  of  course,  under  the 
circumstances,  to  speak  of  the  subject;  you  have  introduced  it  in  terms. 
I  have  been  commissioned  to  tell  the  feminines  of  this  family  of  their 
loss ;  and  under  that  special  authority,  I  am  not  impertinent  in  asking 
you  directly,  how  this  break  is  apt  to  affect  your  contemplated  marriage? 
[After  a  pause.]  Of  course,  my  idea  is  that  you  will  want  to  commit 
into  the  hands  of  some  judicious,  proper  person  your  withdrawal  from 
the  agreement!  [Drawing  closer.']  Commit  the  message  to  me. — lean 
assure  you,  there  will  be  no  suit  for  breach  of  promise. 

Cural — Are  you  sure  of  that,  Mr.  Bryan  ? 

Henry — Will  guarantee  it,  under  bonds. — I  will  tell  you  how  this 


46  DEPRECIATION. 

thing  can  be  settled  at  once.  You  sit  down  here,  and  write  your  with- 
drawal of  the  proposition  Mrs.  Bryan  holds  from  you,  for  her  daughter, 
and  I  will  make  a  copy  and  endorse  it  with  my  plain  assurance  of  your 
full  and  perfect  release;  my  assurance,  which  you  ought  to  know  is  as 
good  as  my  bond,  so  far  as  my  means  go.  And  I  know  I  speak  under 
due  warrant. — Come  1  sit  down  here  and  write. 

[Rising  and  preparing  materials  for  writing. 

Cural — [Aside.]  (Too  fast!  I  don't  believe  the  story.  This  can't  be 
true.  I  can't  be  "played"  in  this  way.  At  any  rate,  its  safe  to  adopt 
the  magnanimous  just  now;  and  try  the  case  in  the  light  of  all  the  evi- 
dence.)— No,  I  must  confess  I  don't  wish  to  make  a  notary's  shop  out  of 
this  parlor,  for  any  such  business.  I  merely  a=ked  from  ordinary  inter- 
est and  curiosity  the  questions  I  have  put  in  connection  with  your  vol- 
unteered news  and  assurance.  But  to  speak  of  this  last  matter.  I  have 
been  by  these  tidings  only  the  more  determined  and  anxious  to  abide  by 
my  proposition  and  agreement.  Do  you  think  I  would  give  up  the  girl, 
because  her  father  happened  to  lose  a  little  monc'y  ?  Why,  sir,  you 
ought  to  have  known  me  better  than  that.  I  have  plenty  of  money. 
What  I  wanted  was  an  elegant  little  lady  for  my  wife,  and  respectable 
connections,  honorable  connections.  These  I  should  have  in  this  mar- 
riage. It  is  evident  I  didn't  look  to  her  father's  fortune;  for  I  solicited 
Charlotte's  hand  before  he  rose  to  wealth. 

Henry — Before  it  was  generally  known  that  he  had  become  wealthy ; 
but  you  knew  of  it  before  you  ever  called  at  the  house. 

Cural — I  assure  you,  sir,  upon  my  honor,  I  did  not.  [Rising. 

Henry — Well, — before  ymi  made  proffers  of  marriage. 

Cural — You  have  mistaken  me  altogether,  Mr.  Bryan,  Mr.  Henry 
Bryan,  in  supposing  that  I  sought  this  young  lady's  hand  for  considera- 
tions of  money.  I  am  an  elderly  man  with  abundant  means,  and  her 
father  is  in  middle  life  with  good  health  and  with  the  prospect  of  long 
life ;  and  he  has  two  other  children.  Is  it  reasonable  to  suppose  that  I 
looked  to  her  property  as  an  inducstnent  for  marrying  her  ? — I  don't 
think  you  have  exhibited  your  usual  insight  into  character  and  motives 
in  thus  construing  mine.  No,  sir.  There  can  be  no  impropriety  in  my 
saying  to  you :  youth  and  beauty  and  intelligence  have  been  the  attrac- 
tions ;  not  money.  You  have  mistaken  me. — I  came  here  to  see  toe 
lady'  whom  I  am  to  wed ;  not  to  be  forced  into  an  interview  and  conver- 
sation with  a  distant  relative  who  insu'ts  me  and  his  relations  alike  with 
dishonorable  imputations  and  propositions. — Good  morning,  sir.  [Exit 
Cural.] 

Henry — It's  well  he  hurried  off,  at  the  end  of  that  speech.  I'd  follow 
him  with  a  kick,  only  he  had  a  little  right  to  appear  mad.  [After  a 
pause.]  Well,  well,  well ;  let  me  sit  down  and  look  at  the  new  features 
that  have  come  out  in  this  case.  [After  reflection.']  I  c  mnot  have  alto- 
gether mistaken  this  old  fellow.  No  doubt  lie  likes  the  girl  for  her 
beauty.  I  never  doubted  that.  But  he  don't  ririke  his  offer  for  that 
alone.  I  don't  think  he  believes  my  account  of  Alfred's  blow-up.  Now 
if  I  can  ascertain  that  he  has  gone  straight  from  this  place  on  a  tour  of 
inquiry  respecting  that,  matter,  it  will  be  good  evidence  that  his  disbelief 
in  the  ruin  of  Alfred's  fortunes  is  the  real  bottom  for  his  pompous  declar- 


DEPRECIATION.  47 

ations  of  high-toned  honor  and  injured  innocence,  and  all  that.  He 
won't  circulate  the  news — that's  certain.  No  need  to  caution  or  petition 
him  on  that  point.  But  this  deucedly  mixes  up  my  ideas  as  to  what  to 
advise  Charlotte.  How  can  I  counsel  her  to  act  toward  this  old  cur- 
mudgeon? And  Mrs.  Bryan  will  be  delighted  at  his  steadfastness — if 
he  perseveres  in  it!  She'll  read  me  out  of  the  calendar  altogether.  0, 

I'm  a  d d  fool!     But  whatever  be  Cural's  motives  or  intentions,  I'll 

save  Lotty  from  him.  I'll  save  her,  I  swear  I  will,  or  I'll — I'll,  I'll  go 
to  Australia,  like  a  dog — on  a  bark. 

[Enter  JANE.] 

Jane — There  is  a  lady  in  the  other  parlor  who  has  inquired  for  you. 
A  poor  woman.     She  came  in  at  the  basement  door. 
[Enter  CHARLOTTE.] 

Charlotte — Henry,  there's  a  Lady  in  the  other  room,  who  has  been 
inquiring  for  you.  She  inquired  for  mother  first,  and  then  for  father, 
and  then  for  you.  I  didn't  know  that  you  were  in  the  houee,  when  I 
first  heard  her  asking  for  you.  I  wonder  if  there  would  be  a  scene,  if 
she  came  in  here?  Say,  Uncle,  are  you  engaged  to  any  woman  that 
you  know  of? 

Henry — Not  that  I  know  of. 

Charlotte— Now,  I  dare  you  to  play  out,  and  let  mama  see  this  woman 
first. 

Henry — I  will  leave  the  house  with  you.  Come !  Take  a  short  walk 
and  ride  with  me,  while  your  mother  has  a  chance  to  hear  all  this  wo- 
man has  to  say.  She  is  after  washing  or  a  "place,"  I  reckon. 

Charlotte — Agreed.  Jane,  go  and  tell  mother  there  is  a  lady  here, 
who  has  a  "story"  for  her.  So  she  told  me.  [Exit  JANE. 

Henry — Come  with  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  a  story  I  have  for  your 
ears.  One  fully  as  interesting  to  you  as  anything  this  woman  can  relate 
will  be  to  your  mother's  ears.  [Exeunt  HENRY  and  CHARLOTTE. 

[Enter  MADAM  COUCHING  ;  presently  enters  MRS.  BRYAN.] 

Mrs.  Couching — \Rlsing\  Mrs.  Bryan? 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  am  Mrs.  Bryan. 

Mrs.  Couching — I  have  something  of  importance  to  tell  you.  It  is  a 
very  unpleasant  task  or  duty;  but  I  think  it  is  my  imperative  duty  to 
say  what  I  shall  to  you — with  your  consent? 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  am  perfectly  willing  a-ad  ready  to  hear  anything  you 
have  to  say,  if  it  concerns  me  or  the  interests  of  my  family. 

Mrs.  Couching — I  believe  it  concerns  your  family,  deeply.  The  very 
intimacy  of  i's  connection  with  the  welfare  of  your  child,  has  made  me 
hesitate  the  more  to  become  the  bearer  of  the  information.  I  had  de- 
termined to  write  to  you,  or  to  your  husband.  But  my  husband  advised 
me  to  make  the  statement  to  you  directly.  My  husband  believed  that 
the  statement  would  be  regarded,  perhaps,  as  a  slander,  if  it  was  not 
substantiated  by  a  personal  interview.  And  he  thought  that  I  should 
make  the  communication  to  you,  instead  of  his  speaking  to  your  husband 
about  it,  as  I  alone  personally  knew  of  the  truth  of  what  I  have  to  tell. 
I  agreed  to  speak  to  you  first,  if  I  could  see  you ;  or  else  to  your  hus- 
band or  your  brother-in-law,  whom  my  husband  knows  very  well. 


48  DEPRECIATION. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Madam,  what  is  your  name  ? 

Mrs.  G — I  may  as  well  begin  the  story  there:  My  present  name  is 
Mrs.  Couching.  My  maiden  name  was  Barton.  I  was  born  in  Berk- 
shire, England.  In  1845  my  father  obtained  a  civil  appointment  from 
the  government,  which  required  him  to  reside  in  Australia.  In  the  Fall 
of  that  year,  our  family,  my  father  and  mother,  two  brothers  of  mine  and 
myself,  started  on  the  journey.  I  was  then  about  fifteen  years  of  age. 
Among  the  passengers,  on  our  crowded  ship,  were  twelve  convicts,  under 
sentence  of  transportation  to  Botany  Bay.  One  among  the  number  fell 
quite  sick,  when  the  voyage  was  about  half  over.  At  the  request  of 
many  of  the  cabin  passengers— the  consent  of  all,  I  believe — he  was  re- 
moved aft,  to  a  second  cabin  bunk.  I  saw  him  often  there;  and  when  he 
became  convalescent,  even  after-  he  was  taken  back  to  his  forecastle 
quarters,  he  was  allowed  to  come  daily  upon  the  quarter  deck.  This  was 
during  several  weeks ;  and  his  face  became  very  familiar  to  me.  I  have 
a  good  recollection  of  faces.  There  was  a  strong  attraction  to  a  child, 
especially,  in  looking  at  such  a  person.  I  knew  of  his  sentence,  and  re- 
garded him  with  the  curiosity  and  intensity  of  a  child.  I  could  not  for- 
get or  mistake  his  face,  not  even  if  it  were  changed  or  disfigured  very 
much.  That  man  is  now  in  this  city.  He  was  closely  shaved  when  he 
was  on  board  our  vessel,  of  course,  and  he  is  shaven  close  now.  I  can- 
not be  mistaken  in  his  features.  I  came  from  Australia  to  California 
about  three  years  ago,  and  I  saw  and  noticed  him  here  within  a  few 
weeks  of  my  arrival,  and  I  have  often  seen  him  here  since  that  time. 
Within  the  past  two  or  three  months,  by  accident  and  design  both,  I  have 
.seen  him  very  often,  and  observed  him  while  talking  many  times.  I  do 
not  remember  about  his  voice.  It  was  very  rarely  that  he  spoke  on  board 
ship,  and  then  only  to  the  guard  or  the  officers  of  the  ship.  But  his 
manner,  while  speaking,  I  recollect.  He  is  here  regarded  as  a  wealthy 
citizen,  in  good  standing.  I  learned,  a  short  time  since,  that  he  was 
about  to  marry  your  daughter.  My  husband  had  this  intelligence  con- 
firmed from  Mr.  Henry  Bryan ;  and  it  was  not  until  he  told  me  of  it  that 
I  thought  of  revealing  this  to  any  one  outside  of  my  family.  Since  that 
time,  whenever  I  have  had  an  opportunity,  I  have  watched  the  man  still 
more  closely,  that  I  might  make  no  mistake  ;  until  I  am  quite  positive. 
There  are  several  other  persons  whom  I  have  seen  in  town  that,  I  think, 
were  members  of  that  gang  of  convicts ;  but  I  cannot  be  positive  as  to 
any  of  them  as  I  am  of  this  one's  identity.  I  have  been  thoroughly 
satisfied  of  his  history  as  a  convict,  and  of  my  duty  to  you,  for  several 
days  past.  I  have  passed  by  your  house  several  times,  without  the  cour- 
age to  come  in  and  ask  for  you.  But  now  you  have  the  story.  The  old 
man  who  proposes  to  marry  your  daughter,  and  who  goes  here  by  the 
name  of  Cural,  is  an  escaped  convict,  or  he  served  his  time  out.  I  am 
not  certain  as  to  what  was  the  nature  of  his  offence,  though  I  thing  it 
was  forgery.  I  know  his  term  was  for  fourteen  years  ;  and  I  have  reason 
to  believe  he  appeared  here  before  that  time  passed  from  the  date  of  our 
voyage  together  from  England,  in  the  packet. 

Mrs.  Bryan — You  say  that  you  are  the  only  one  in  the  city,  so  far  as 
you  know,  who  has  a  personal  knowledge  of  this  man's  former  character 
or  history,  as  you  call  it  ? 


DEPRECIATION.  49 

<Mrs.  0 — I  don't  know  of  any  other  person  knowing  of  these  facts, — 
except  as  I  have  told  my  husband  and  written  to  a  brother  who  is  up 
the  country. 

Mrs.  Bryan— You  are  the  only  one  who  professes  to  have  a  personal 
knowledge  of  the  facts  on  shipboard,  so  far  as  you  are  aware  ? 

Mrs.  G — Yes,  madam. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Did  you  expect  I  would  believe  this  story? 

Mrs.  C — I  thought  it  probable  you  might  at  first  be  incredulous.  I 
spoke  to  my  husband  about  that.  He  said  it  would  be  right  for  me  to 
give  you  the  information,  at  all  events.  He  said  that  if  you  were  in- 
clined to  disbelieve  it,  you  would  be  likely  afterward  to  make  such  scru- 
tiny of  the  man,  his  talk  and  actions,  as  would  confirm  what  I  told  you. 
Husband  said  you  would  be  apt  to  ask  him  suddenly  as  to  his  previous 
life,  and  quiz  him  until  he  gave  evidence,  the  one  way  or  the  other,  so 
as  to  sat;sfy  you  of  his  guilt  or  innocence.  Husband  says  that  a  quiz- 
zing woman  is  more  cunning  and  expert  in  getting  out  the  truth  than  a 
cross-examining  lawyer.  And  he  thinks  he  ought  to  know. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Doubtless. — Mrs.  Couching,  what  is  your  husband's 
business? 

Mrs.  G — He  is  a  carpenter  and  shipwright  by  trade. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Are  you  in  want  ? 

Mrs.  C — Not  at  all.     "We  live  very  comfortably,  and  are  saving  money 

Mrs.  Bryan — How  much  did  you  expect  from  me  for  this  "informa- 
tion"— as  you  call  it? 

Mrs.  C—l  expect  nothing. 

Mrs.  Bryan — And  I  would  give  you  nothing  for  the  information.  But 
I  will  give  you  something  if  you  will  agree  to  mention  this  matter  to  no 
other  person.  You  profess  to  have  come  here  and  communicated  these 
facts  to  me  out  of  a  proper  and  simple  regard  for  my  interests  or  the 
welfare  of  an  innocent  woman.  Well :  in  furtherance  of  that  very  pur- 
pose, I  want  you  to  agree  not  to  reveal  this  to  any  one  else.  The  en- 
gagement between  my  daughter  and  Mr.  Cural  is  so  notorious,  that  his 
general  exposure  would  bring  disgrace  upon  us,  considerable  unnecessary 
suffering  to  my  daughter.  He  can  be  dismissed  without  it  being  known 
why.  Will  you  make  this  agreement? 

Mrs.  C—  Certainly,  I  will  agree  to  speak  of  the  matter  no  farther. 
Nor  did  I  intend  to.  But  I  did  not  look  for  any  compensation  in  the 
way  of  money  for  what  I  have  felt  it  my  duty  to  tell  you,  and  I  will  not 
take  money  for  concealing  this  elsewhere  or  remaining  silent  upon  it. 
Good  morning,  Mrs.  Bryan. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Good  morning.  [Exit  Mrs.  (7.]  Well,  this  is  a  dreadful 
state  of  affairs.  But  I  fancy  I  preserved  and  acted  upon  more  presence 
of  mind  than  I  ever  before  thought  myself  capable  of  maintaining  under 
such  circumstances.  I  don't  care  if  he  was  sentenced  to  Botany  Bay  for 
a  thousand  years.  No  one  in  this  city  but  this  poor  woman  actually 
knows  it ;  and  only  her  family  know  of  it  from  her,  beside  myself.  And 
she  will  see  to  it  that  the  secret  is  kept.  I  can  be  sure  of  that.  Other- 
wise she  would  have  taken  money  for  the  information,  in  the  first  in- 
stance ;  and  more  for  the  promise  of  quiet.  I  am  terribly  glad  I  heard 
this  first  myself,  instead  of  Alfred  or  Henry.  Then  it  would  have  destroyed 

5 


50  DEPRECIATION. 

all  our  prospects.  Cural  must  be  very  rich.  My  husband  and  Henry 
have  told  of  instances  where  he  has  invested  thousands  within  the  past 
few  months,  on  bond  and  mortgage.  No  wild-cat  hazard  on  that.  And 
he  intends  to  set  up  a  splendid  establishment  of  his  own.  If  our  mis- 
fortune and  his  colony-life  can  be  kept  a  secret  a  little  while — a  little 
while, — that's  the  necessity — the  only  thing  necessary  1 

[Enter  HENRY,  in  haste,  breathless.] 

Henry — "Would  you  believe  it,  Clara?  No,  I  don't  know  as  I'll  put 
the  matter  in  that  way.  You  cannot  get  anybody  in  these  premises  to 
believe  bad  news.  But  I  must  be  crazy,  or  I'd  expect  this  was  good 
news  for  you.  Mrs.  Bryan,  I  snppose  I  shall  have  to  congratulate  you. 
I  told  old  Moneybags  all  about  Alfred's  lo*s,  and  he  said,  "No  matter  I" 
He  said  that  it  was  not  money,  but  youth  and  beauty  that  attracted  him. 
The  cussed  sentimental  old  hypocrite.  I'll  tell  it  all  in  a  lump.  Here 
I've  taken  a  long  walk  and  ride  with  your  obedient  daughter,  for  the 
purpose  of  telling  her  the  state  of  the  case,  and  she  goes  right  off  to  her 
father  and  tells  him  that  Arthur  Hassard  had  written  her — probably  on 
account  of  having  heard  of  her  father's  slide — absolving  her  from  some 
sort  of  an  oath,  and  she  advised  her  father  to  say  the  word  and  she'd 
marry  Cural  and — and  be  happy,  and  make  everybody  else  happy.  0, 
I'm  miserable.  I'm  played  out. — I  wish  that  old  fellow  could  be  got 
into  a  private  mad-house.  I  believe  he  belongs  in  state  prison  by  rights. 
I  don't  think  there's  such  a  family  in  town  as  this. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Nor  I,  either;  where  a  brother-in-law,  an  uncle,  a  man 
of  no  family  experience,  sets  himself  up  to  rule  a  household,  without  any 
invitation,  and  in  spite  of  continual  notice  that  his  advice  is  not  wanted, 
and  his  orders  will  be  disregarded. 

Henry — Mrs.  Bryan,  you  seriously  propose  delivering  Charlotte  into 
the  domestic  keeping  of  this  man,  this  old  coon,  because  he  has  money. 
At  the  same  time  you  propose  to  cross  her  own  choice,  her  excellent 
choice,  a  choice  worthy  of  her  and  her — ber  father.  You  propose,  really 
for  your  own  advantage,  and  to  bolster  up  your  own  pride,  to  bind  your 
child  to  this  indecent  marriage,  until  death  shall  have  the  kindness  to  in- 
terrupt the  relationship.  0,  what  is  all  our  civilization  worth  I 

Mrs.  Bryan — And  you  propose,  Mr.  Henry,  that  our  eldest  daughter, 
in  this  time  of  our  adversity,  should  refuse  an  eligible,  wealthy  match, 
and  unite  herself  with  a  poor  soldier  boy,  who,  to  say  nothing  of  his 
necessary  mode  of  life  and  his  prospects  hereafter,  is  now  paid  off  in 
greenbacks  at  forty  cents  on  the  dollar,  a  pittance  sum  of  one  hundred 
dollars  a  month  1  You  are  a  sensible  man,  as  sensible  as  you  are  modest 
and  diffident  about  interfering  in  other  people's  business.  Your  own  im- 
pertinent officiousness  has  brought  you  a  severe  lesson  this  morning.  I 
think  you  not  only  were  impertinent,  but  you  did  a  mean  trick  when 
you  informed  Mr.  Cural  of  Alfred's  failure.  Like  a  generous  man.  he 
accounts  that  nothing.  That  proves  the  sincerity  of  his  attachment  to 
Charlotte,  and,  I  am  sure,  makes  all  necessary  and  reasonable  pledge  of 
his  kindness  and  liberality  to  her  when  they  shall  be  married. 

\Exit  MRS.  BRYAN. 

Henry — [Pacing  up  and  down  excitedly] — Well,  this  beats  the  very 


DEPRECIATION.  51 

devil  I  "Why,  I  really  thought  it  was  well  worth  Alfred's  big  break  to 
break  off  this  cursed  match.  But  it  don't  appear  that  it  is  going  to  ef- 
fect anything  of  that  kind.  On  the  contrary 

[Enter  BRIDGET,  and  interrupting.] 

Bridget — Hush!  hush!  hush!  Mr.  Henry,  I  have  got  something 
great  to  tell  you,  and  quick. 

Henry — Have  you  ? 

Bridget — Faith,  I  have.  And  it's  yourself  that  got  my  cousin  a  place 
here  as  coachman,  and  I  can't  forget  it.  Listen,  now,  and  don't  you  dis- 
cover me  to  the  lady.  You  must  pretend  to  have  heard  this  from  some- 
body else. 

Henry—  What  is  it? 

Bridget — Troth,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  quick,  before  she  comes  down 
again.  There  was  a  poor  woman  called  here  this  morning.  "While  she 
was  here  talking  with  the  madam,  I  was  dusting  in  the  other  parlor,  and 
sure,  I  couldn't  help  hearing  what  was  said.  The  woman  said  her  hus- 
band was  a  carpenter,  and  she  was  born  in  Old  England  ;  and  when  she 
was  about  fifteen  year  she  went  on  a  voyage  to  Australia  with  her  father 
and  mother  arid  two  brothers.  And  there  were  twelve  convicts  for  Bot- 
any Bay  on  board  ;  one  was  taken  sick  on  the  voyage,  about  half  ways 
out.  He  was  carried  aft  to  the  cabin.  She  saw  him  there,  and  after 
that  she  noticed  him  on  the  deck.  He  was  a  fourteen-year  convict;  and 
this  is  the  very  same  chap  that  is  going  to  marry  Miss  Charlotte. 

Henry — What's  that  woman's  name  ? 

Bridget — The  woman  said  her  name  was  Mrs.  Couching,  and  her  hus- 
band's a  carpenter.  Hush  !  I  thought  I  heard  the  Madam's  step.  You 
can  charge  it  upon  her  as  something  you  heard  from  some  one  else.  She 
can't  deny  it;  and,  sure,  that'll  break  up  the  match.  She  offered  to  bribe 
the  woman  not  to  tell.  The  woman  would  not  take  money,  but  she 
agreed  not  to  tell ;  and  I  heard  madam  say  to  herself  afterwards  that 
Charlotte  should  marry  the  old  man  any  way. 

Henry — My  God !  Is  this  so  ?  I  will  go  and  tell  Alfred  at  once,  and 
we'll  go  and  see  this  woman.  Couching  you  say  her  name  is,  and  her 
husband's  a  carpenter? 

Bridget — Yes;  I  don't  think  she's  more  than  left  the  basement.  She's 
got  on  a  green  dress.  [Looking  out  the  ivindow.']  There  she  goes  up  the 
street,  now.  You  can  overtake  her.  And  there  comes  Mr.  Bryan,  down 
on  the  other  'side  of  the  street.  ]Exit  HENRY."]  Now,  I  guess  I've 
earned  me  discharge!  Curse  of  Cromwell  on  that  old  chap!  [Door  bell 
rings.}  Who  can  that  be?  Troth,  I'll  be  the  first  to  know.  [Exit. 

[Enter  MRS.  BRYAN.] 
Mrs.  Bryan — I  don't  know  what  to  do. 

[Enter  ARTHUR.] 

Arthur — Good  morning,  Mrs.  Bryan. 
Mrs.  Bryan — Good  morning,  sir. 

Arthur — I  suppose  I  might  as  well  explain  to  you  that  Mr.  Henry 
Bryan,  whom  I  happened  to  meet,  up  the  street,  a  little  way  above,  told 
me  that  Miss  Charlotte  would  like  to  speak  with  me  a  few  minutes  be- 


52 


DEPRECIATION. 


fore'I  went  up  the  coast.  I  thought  I  might  as  well  call  now  as  at  any 
other  time.  I  can  assure  you,  if  she  requires  my  personal  confirmation 
of  the  letter  I  addressed  to  her  yesterday,  she  shall  have  it. 

Mrs.  Bryan — Take  a  seat,  and  I  will  send  for  Charlotte.  Jane! 
[Touching  bell]  Jane! 

[Enter  JANE.] 

Go  up  to  Charlotte's  room,  and  tell  her  Mr.  Arthur  Hassard  is  in  the 
parlor  and  wishes  to  speak  with  her  a  few  moments.  [Exit  JANE.]  You 
have  been  commissioned  a  long  time.  I  should  think  you  would  be 
anxious  to  get  into  active  service;  at  least  such  "active  service  "  as  this 
coast  affords.  0,  by  the  way,  Arthur,  a  lady  friend  of  mine,  who  called 
the  other  day,  brought  her  nurse  and  little  baby  with  her,  and  the  little 
baby  somehow  got  hold  of  your  photograph,  which  Laura  had  brought 
down  and  carelessly  laid  on  the  table.  The  baby  tore  your  handsome 
face  and  uniform  all  to  pieces.  I  didn't  know  what  the  child  was  doing 
until  the  destruction  was  complete.  Charlotte  seemed  to  feel  quite 
grieved  about  it.  But  never  mind!  When  you  get  to  be  a  General 
you  can  send  113  a  new  one,  life-size,  in  full  uniform ;  and  I  have  no 
doubt  Mr.  Cural  will  be  perfectly  willing  that  Charlotte  shall  have  it 
framed  and  hung  up  in  the  dining  room. 

Arthur — [Aside.]     Rough  papers!     But  I  must  swallow  it. 
[Enter  CHARLOTTE.] 

Charlotte — Arthur,  I  am  glad  you  came  to-day.  I  hear  you  are  going 
away  Tuesday. 

Arthur — Yes,  Charlotte,  I  am  going  next  week.  I  shall  probably  be 
absent  during  my  term  of  service.  I  am  glad  I  have  the  privilege  of 
shaking  hands  with  you  once  more,  in  the  presence  of  your  mother. 

Charlotte — Mother,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  allow  me  to  speak 
a  few  words  with  Arthur,  alone  ?  We  will  go  into  the  other  parlor. 

Mrs.  Bryan— 13o,  my  dear,  I  don't  think  it  well  you  should.  You 
should  have  no  more  private  interviews  with  any  gentleman,  except  your 
intended  husband.  It  would  be  highly  improper. 

[Enter  ALFRED  and  HENRY  BRYAN-] 

Alfred — [excitedly.]  My  dear,  have  you  heard  this  account  about 
Cural? 

Mrs.  Bryan What  is  it? 

Alfred — That  he  was  a  Botany  Bay  convict! 

Mrs.  Bryan— What  of  that  ? 

Alfred—  What  of  that!  What  of  that!  Good  God !  Do  you  say  "  what 
of  that! "  as  if  it  was  a  matter  of  indifference  to  us. 

Mrs.  Bryan— Henry,  have  you  been  eaves  dropping? 

Henry — I  have  not,  I  believe.  Yet  I  heard  this  from  the  same  source 
you  did.  Together  with  the  interesting  intelligence  that  you  intended  to 
conceal  and  ignore  the  matter. 

Mrs.  Bryan — So  I  did.  Henry,  you  have  always  been  a  curse  to  our 
family.  It  this  matter  could  have  been  kept  secret.  Charlotte  would  have 
had  a  wealthy  marriage,  notwithstanding  our  misfortunes.  Men  may 
commit  crimes  in  their  younger  days,  and  repent  and  become  respectable. 
The  English  Courts  are  very  severe,  and  we  know  that  sometimes  they 


DEPRECIATION.  53 

condemn  the  innocent.  Perhaps  Mr.  Cural  was  not  guilty.  Perhaps  the 
whole  report  was  false.  You  may  have  hired  this  woman  to  carry  this 
story. 

Henry — You  don't  think  that.  This  matter,  being  so  far  exposed,  you 
agree  that  this  marriage  can't  be  thought  of  any  more  ? 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  think  of  it  still,  if  this  report  can  be  kept  here.  I  even 
hope  and  expect  Mr.  Cural  can  disprove  this  report,  eveD  if  it  does  go 
abroad.  Any  man  may  be  slandered. 

Alfred — Do  you  imagine  that  I  would  permit  such  a  marriage  now? 

Mrs.  Bryan — I  imagine  you  would  have  to  permit  it  if  I  said  so,  and 
nothing  stood  in  the  way  but  your  objection.  "Would  you  have  Charlotte 
marry  this  boy  ?  Do  either  of  the  Mr.  Bryan's  propose  that  ? 

Henry — I  do.  The  few  thousands  you  have  supposed  me  worth  don't 
amount  to  one  quarter  of  the  property  I  can  boast  of  on  proper  occa- 
sion, suoh  as  the  present.  On  her  marriage  with  Arthur,  I  will  settle  on 
Charlotte  property  that  steadily  brings  in  two  hundred  dollars  a  month, 
and  a  thousand  dollars  in  coin  for  the  first  year's  pocket  money  ! 

Mr--.  Bryan — On  condition  that  he  leaves  the  service,  I  suppose  ? 

Henry — No.  Since  you  have  suggested  it:  on  condition  that  he  re- 
main in  the  service,  and  that  Charlotte  marry  him  and  go  with  him  to 
camp  or  garrison. 

Mrs.  Bryan — [Sitting  down,  crying.']  0,  dear,  what  losses  we  have 
sustained. 

[Enter  LAURA.] 

Laura — 0,  Mama,  Papa,  Uncle  Henry  I  I  was  just  down  to  Ellen 
Plant's.  You  know  that  her  father  has  acted  as  one  of  Mr.  Cural's 
agents  for  several  years  past.  "Well,  he  says  Mr.  Cural  isn't  worth  a 
picayune  to-day — not  a  bit.  Those  were  his  very  words.  He  told  me 
he  wondered  Father  did'nt  know  it.  He  says  he's  not  worth  a  bit,  but 
is  really  head-over-heels  in  debt;  and  has  only  kept  it  from  being 
long  since  known  all  over  the  town  among  business  men,  by  quieting 
some  of  the  most  importunate  creditors  with  promise  of  paying,  or  se- 
curity, by  Father's  help,  when  he  married  Lotiy. 

Mrs.  Bryan — 0,  Henry,  what  a  blessing  you  have  always  been  to  our 
family.  [Rising  and  shaking  HENRY  by  the  hand. 

Charlotte — Mother!  Mother! 

Mrs.  Bryan — What,  dear  ? 

Charlotte— Can  I  take  a  short  walk  with  Arthur  this  afternoon? 

Hemy — I  think  I  may  answer  undisputed  for  your  mother,  this  time. 
Yes,  my  dear,  [kissing  her].  Here,  Arthur;  take  her  by  the  hand,  and 
let  us  see  how  you  look  together.  Take  him  by  the  hand,  Lotty,  for 
that  long  walk  up  and  down  the  road  of  life.  Why,  Arthur,  you  ought 
to  have  won  her  as  against  such  a  rival.  You  gave  up  too  soon.  Rich 
or  poor,  "respectable"  or  plebeian,  young  or  old,  American  shoulder-straps 
against  expatriated  English  pounds  and  shillings,  any  day  !  [advancing. 

Good  friends !  we  have  not  brought  you  to  foreign  shore, 
And  pictured  manners  that  are  now  no  more  ; 
We  have  not  asked  your  fancies  far  to  roamt 
But  have  preferred  to  deal  with  things  at  home  I 
If  then  the  mirror  we  have  sought  to  hold 


54  DEPRECIATION. 

Before  an  audience,  in  this  land  of  gold, 

Reflects  in  faithfulness  the  acts  and  aims 

Of  many  high-toned  wretches  and  ambitious  dames, 

Which  should  receive  the  honest  masses  frown 

As  much  when  stocks  are  "  up  "  as  when  they're  "  down, 

"Why  then  you'll  pardon  if  some  faults  appear, 

As :  here  too  lenient,  there  somewhat  severe. 

For  when  its  general  study,  scope,  and  view 

Present  a  picture  obviously  true, 

And  fasten  scorn  upon  successful  Cheats, 

And  paint  domestic  discords  and  deceits, 

The  Moral  need  not  have  a  set  and  closing  clause, 

To  urge  a  better  living  and  invite  applause. 

Charlotte— 

Though  uncle  shuns  all  personal  allusion 

And  special  pleading,  at  our  Play's  conclusion, 

I'll  even  venture  modestly  to  say, 

There  is,  I  think,  a  Hero  in  the  Play. 

Not  the  poor  "  suit "  he's  won,  perhaps,  declares 

His  right  to  favor; — but  the  suit  he  wears, 

And  that  he  copies  in  his  words  and  acts 

A  sober  history  of  romantic  facts, 

Entitles  him  to  your  applauding  cheers, — 

One  of  our  own  State's  Patriot  Yolunteers! ' 

Mrs.  Bryan — 

You'll  stay  to  dinner,  Arthur,  I  presume  ? 

Arthur — 

I'll  leave  my  "picture" — for  the  dining  room! 


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